t 

s — ^ 

U  g 

0  ^1 

3  ^=i 

i6  ^^^ 

11  1 

i3  =^g 

4  ^^ 

2 

1 

,.  THB 

NURNBERG 
STOVE 


t 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


G!H  U.C.  Library 


•I  m^-.i  i^WW*  ■ 


■  ■    w..><rfi     wil      ■ 


She  gave  him  her  hand  and  led  him  out  to  a  minuet 


THE 
NURNBERG  STOVE 


BY 

OUIDA 

(LOUISE  DE  LA  RAMEE) 


NEW  YORK 

THOMAS   Y.   CROWELL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1908, 
By  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  COMPANY 


The  Niirnberg  Stove 

August  lived  in  a  little  town  called  Hall. 
Hall  is  a  favourite  name  for  several  towns  in 
Austria  and  in  Germany ;  but  this  one  especial 
little  Hall,  in  the  Upper  Innthal,  is  one  of  the 
most  charming  Old-World  places  that  I  know, 
and  August  for  his  part  did  not  know  any 
other.  It  has  the  green  meadows  and  the 
green  mountains  all  about  it,  and  the  grey- 
green  glacier-fed  water  rushes  by  it.  It  has 
paved  streets  and  enchanting  little  shops  that 
have  all  latticed  panes  and  iron  gratings  to 
them;  it  has  a  very  grand  old  Gothic  church 
that  has  the  noblest  blendings  of  light  and 
shadow,  and  marble  tombs  of  dead  knights, 
and  a  look  of  infinite  strength  and  repose  as  a 
church  should  have.  Then  there  is  the  Muntze 
Tower,  black  and  white,  rising  out  of  greenery 
and  looking  down  on  a  long  wooden  bridge 
and  the  broad  rapid  river ;  and  there  is  an  old 
schloss  which  has  been  made  into  a  guard- 
house, with  battlements  and  frescoes  and  her- 
aldic devices  in  gold  and  colours,  and  a  man-at- 
arms  carved  in  stone  standing  life-size  in  his 
niche  and  bearing  his  date,  1530.    A  little  far- 


573177 


6  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

ther  on,  but  close  at  hand,  is  a  cloister  with 
beautiful  marble  columns  and  tombs,  and  a 
colossal  wood-carved  Calvary,  and  beside  that 
a  small  and  very  rich  chapel :  indeed,  so  full  is 
the  little  town  of  the  undisturbed  past,  that  to 
walk  in  it  is  like  opening  a  missal  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  all  emblazoned  and  illuminated  with 
saints  and  warriors,  and  it  is  so  clean,  and  so 
still,  and  so  noble,  by  reason  of  its  monuments 
and  its  historic  colour,  that  I  marvel  much  no 
one  has  ever  cared  to  sing  its  praises.  The 
old  pious  heroic  life  of  an  age  at  once  more 
restful  and  more  brave  than  ours  still  leaves 
its  spirit  there,  and  then  there  is  the  girdle  of 
the  mountains  all  around,  and  that  alone  means 
strength,  peace,  majesty. 

In  this  little  town  a  few  years  ago  August 
Strehla  lived  with  his  people  in  the  stone-paved 
irregular  square  where  the  grand  church 
stands. 

He  was  a  small  boy  of  nine  years  at  that 
time, — a  chubby-faced  little  man,  with  rosy 
cheeks,  big  hazel  eyes,  and  clusters  of  curls  the 
brown  of  ripe  nuts.  His  mother  was  dead,  his 
father  was  poor,  and  there  were  many  mouths 
at  home  to  feed.  In  this  country  the  winters 
are  long  and  very  cold,  the  whole  land  lies 
wrapped  in  snow  for  many  months,  and  this 
night  that  he  was  trotting  home,  with  a  jug  of 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  7 

beer  in  his  numb  red  hands,  was  terribly  cold 
and  dreary.  The  good  burghers  of  Hall  had 
shut  their  double  shutters,  and  the  few  lamps 
there  were  flickered  dully  behind  their  quaint, 
old-fashioned  iron  casings.  The  mountains  in- 
deed were  beautiful,  all  snow-white  under  the 
stars  that  are  so  big  in  frost.  Hardly  any  one 
was  astir;  a  few  good  souls  wending  home  from 
vespers,  a  tired  post-boy  who  blew  a  shrill 
blast  from  his  tasselled  horn  as  he  pulled  up 
his  sledge  before  a  hostelry,  and  little  August 
hugging  his  jug  of  beer  to  his  ragged  sheep- 
skin coat,  were  all  who  were  abroad,  for  the 
snow  fell  heavily  and  the  good  folks  of  Hall 
go  early  to  their  beds.  He  could  not  run,  for 
he  would  have  spilled  the  beer;  he  was  half 
frozen  and  a  little  frightened,  but  he  kept  up 
his  courage  by  saying  over  and  over  again  to 
himself,  "  I  shall  soon  be  at  home  with  dear 
Hirschvogel." 

He  went  on  through  the  streets,  past  the 
stone  man-at-arms  of  the  guard-house,  and  so 
into  the  place  where  the  great  church  was,  and 
where  near  it  stood  his  father  Karl  Strehla's 
house,  with  a  sculptured  Bethlehem  over  the 
doorway,  and  the  Pilgrimage  of  the  Three 
Kings  painted  on  its  wall.  He  had  been  sent 
on  a  long  errand  outside  the  gates  in  the  after- 
noon,  over  the   frozen  fields   and  the  broad 


8  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

white  snow,  and  had  been  belated,  and  had 
thought  he  had  heard  the  wolves  behind  him 
at  every  step,  and  had  reached  the  town  in  a 
great  state  of  terror,  thankful  with  all  his  pant- 
ing little  heart  to  see  the  oil-lamp  burning 
under  the  first  house-shrine.  But  he  had  not 
forgotten  to  call  for  the  beer,  and  he  carried  it 
carefully  now,  though  his  hands  were  so  numb 
that  he  was  afraid  they  would  let  the  jug  down; 
every  moment. 

The  snow  outlined  with  white  every  gable 
and  cornice  of  the  beautiful  old  wooden  houses; 
the  moonlight  shone  on  the  gilded  signs,  the 
lambs,  the  grapes,  the  eagles,  and  all  the  quaint 
devices  that  hung  before  the  doors ;  covered 
lamps  burned  before  the  Nativities  and  Cruci- 
fixions painted  on  the  walls  or  let  into  the 
woodwork ;  here  and  there,  where  a  shutter  had 
not  been  closed,  a  ruddy  firelight  lit  up  a 
homely  interior,  with  the  noisy  band  of  chil- 
dren clustering  round  the  house-mother  and  a 
big  brown  loaf,  or  some  gossips  spinning  and 
listening  to  the  cobbler's  or  the  barber's  story 
of  a  neighbour,  while  the  oil-wicks  glimmered, 
and  the  hearth-logs  blazed,  and  the  chestnuts 
sputtered  in  their  iron  roasting-pot.  Little  Au- 
gust saw  all  these  things,  as  he  saw  everything 
with  his  two  big  bright  eyes  that  had  such 
curious  lights  and  shadows  in  them;  but  he 


THE    NURNBERG    STOVE  9 

went  heedfully  on  his  way  for  the  sake  of  the 
beer,  which  a  single  shp  of  the  foot  would 
make  him  spill.  At  his  knock  and  call  the  solid 
oak  door,  four  centuries  old  if  one,  flew  open, 
and  the  boy  darted  in  with  his  beer,  and 
shouted,  with  all  the  force  of  mirthful  lungs, 
"  Oh,  dear  Hirschvogel,  but  for  the  thought 
of  you  I  should  have  died!  " 

It  was  a  large  barren  room  into  which  he 
rushed  with  so  much  pleasure,  and  the  bricks 
were  bare  and  uneven.  It  had  a  walnut-wood 
press,  handsome  and  very  old,  a  broad  deal 
table,  and  several  wooden  stools  for  all  its 
furniture ;  but  at  the  top  of  the  chamber,  send- 
ing out  warmth  and  colour  together  as  the 
lamp  shed  its  rays  upon  it,  was  a  tower  of 
porcelain  burnished  with  all  the  hues  of  a 
king's  peacock  and  a  queen's  jewels,  and  sur- 
mounted with  armed  figures,  and  shields,  and 
flowers  of  heraldry,  and  a  great  golden  crown 
upon  the  highest  summit  of  all. 

It  was  a  stove  of  1532,  and  on  it  were  the 
letters  H.  R.  H.,  for  it  was  in  every  portion 
the  handwork  of  the  great  potter  of  Niirnberg, 
Augustin  Hirschvogel,  who  put  his  mark  thus, 
as  all  the  world  knows. 

The  stove  no  doubt  had  stood  in  palaces 
and  been  made  for  princes,  had  warmed  the 
crimson  stockings  of  cardinals  and  the  gold- 


10  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

broidered  shoes  of  archduchesses,  had  glowed 
in  presence-chambers  and  lent  its  carbon  to 
help  kindle  sharp  brains  in  anxious  councils  of 
state;  no  one  knew  what  it  had  seen  or  done 
or  been  fashioned  for ;  but  it  was  a  right  royal 
thing.  Yet  perhaps  it  had  never  been  more 
useful  than  it  was  now  in  this  poor,  desolate 
room,  sending  down  heat  and  comfort  into  the 
troop  of  children  tumbled  together  on  a  wolf- 
skin at  its  feet,  who  received  frozen  August 
am.ong  them  with  loud  shouts  of  joy. 

"  Oh,  dear  Hirschvogel,  I  am  so  cold,  so 
cold !  "  said  August,  kissing  its  gilded  lion's 
claws.     "Is  father  not  in,  Dorothea?" 

"  No,  dear.     He  is  late." 

Dorothea  was  a  girl  of  seventeen,  dark- 
haired  and  serious,  and  with  a  sweet  sad  face, 
for  she  had  had  many  cares  laid  on  her  shoul- 
ders, even  whilst  still  a  mere  baby.  She  was 
the  eldest  of  the  Strehla  family;  and  there 
were  ten  of  them  in  all.  Next  to  her  there 
came  Jan  and  Karl  and  Otho,  big  lads,  gain- 
ing a  little  for  their  own  living ;  and  then  came 
August,  who  went  up  in  the  summer  to  the 
high  Alps  with  the  farmers'  cattle,  but  in  win- 
ter could  do  nothing  to  fill  his  own  little  platter 
and  pot ;  and  then  all  the  little  ones,  who  could 
only  open  their  mouths  to  be  fed  like  young 
birds, — Albrecht  and  Hilda,  and  Waldo  and 


THE   NURNBERG    STOVE  ii 

Christof,  and  last  of  all,  little  three-year-old 
Ermengilda,  with  eyes  like  forget-me-nots, 
whose  birth  had  cost  them  the  life  of  their 
mother. 

They  were  of  that  mixed  race,  half  Austrian, 
half  Italian,  so  common  in  the  Tyrol ;  some  of 
the  children  were  white  and  golden  as  lilies, 
others  were  brown  and  brilliant  as  fresh-fallen 
chestnuts.  The  father  was  a  good  man,  but 
weak  and  weary  with  so  many  to  find  for  and 
so  little  to  do  it  with.  He  worked  at  the  salt- 
furnaces,  and  by  that  gained  a  few  florins; 
people  said  he  would  have  worked  better  and 
kept  his  family  more  easily  if  he  had  not  loved 
his  pipe  and  a  draught  of  ale  too  well ;  but  this 
had  only  been  said  of  him  after  his  wife's 
death,  when  trouble  and  perplexity  had  begun 
to  dull  a  brain  never  too  vigorous,  and  to  en- 
feeble further  a  character  already  too  yielding. 
As  it  was,  the  wolf  often  bayed  at  the  door  of 
the  Strehla  household,  without  a  wolf  from 
the  mountains  coming  down.  Dorothea  was 
one  of  those  maidens  who  almost  work  mira- 
cles, so  far  can  their  industry  and  care  and 
intelligence  make  a  home  sweet  and  wholesome 
and  a  single  loaf  seem  to  swell  into  twenty. 
The  children  were  always  clean  and  happy,  and 
the  table  was  seldom  without  its  big  pot  of 
soup  once  a  day.     Still,  very  poor  they  were, 


12  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

and  Dorothea's  heart  ached  with  shame,  for 
she  knew  that  their  father's  debts  were  many 
for  flour  and  meat  and  clothing.  Of  fuel  to 
feed  the  big  stove  they  had  always  enough 
without  cost,  for  their  mother's  father  was 
alive,  and  sold  wood  and  fir  cones  and  coke, 
and  never  grudged  them  to  his  grandchildren, 
though  he  grumbled  at  Strehla's  improvidence 
and  hapless,  dreamy  ways. 

"  Father  says  we  are  never  to  wait  for  him : 
we  will  have  supper,  now  you  have  come  home, 
dear,"  said  Dorothea,  who,  however  she  might 
fret  her  soul  in  secret  as  she  knitted  their  hose 
and  mended  their  shirts,  never  let  her  anxieties 
cast  a  gloom  on  the  children;  only  to  August 
she  did  speak  a  little  sometimes,  because  he  was 
so  thoughtful  and  so  tender  of  her  always,  and 
knew  as  well  as  she  did  that  there  were  troubles 
about  money, — though  these  troubles  were 
vague  to  them  both,  and  the  debtors  w^ere  pa- 
tient and  kindly,  being  neighbours  all  in  the 
old  twisting  streets  between  the  guard-house 
and  the  river. 

Supper  was  a  huge  bowl  of  soup,  with  big 
slices  of  brown  bread  swimming  in  it  and 
some  onions  bobbing  up  and  down :  the  bowl 
was  soon  emptied  by  ten  wooden  spoons,  and 
then  the  three  eldest  boys  slipped  off  to  bed, 
being  tired  with  their  rough  bodily  labour  in 


THE   NURNBERG    STOVE  13 

the  snow  all  day,  and  Dorothea  drew  her  spin- 
ning-wheel by  the  stove  and  set  it  whirring, 
and  the  little  ones  got  August  down  upon  the 
old  worn  wolfskin  and  clamoured  to  him  for 
a  picture  or  a  story.  For  August  was  the  art- 
ist of  the  family. 

He  had  a  piece  of  planed  deal  that  his  father 
had  given  him,  and  some  sticks  of  charcoal, 
and  he  would  draw  a  hundred  things  he  had 
seen  in  the  day,  sweeping  each  out  with  his 
elbow  when  the  children  had  seen  enough  of 
it  and  sketching  another  in  its  stead, — faces 
and  dogs'  heads,  and  men  in  sledges,  and  old 
women  in  their  furs,  and  pine-trees,  and  cocks 
and  hens,  and  all  sorts  of  animals,  and  now 
and  then — very  reverently — a  Madonna  and 
Child.  It  was  all  very  rough,  for  there  was 
no  one  to  teach  him  anything.  But  it  was  all 
Hfe-like,  and  kept  the  whole  troop  of  children 
shrieking  with  laughter,  or  watching  breath- 
less, with  wide  open,  wondering,  awed  eyes. 

They  were  all  so  happy :  what  did  they  care 
for  the  snow  outside?  Their  little  bodies  were 
warm,  and  their  hearts  merry ;  even  Dorothea, 
troubled  about  the  bread  for  the  morrow, 
laughed  as  she  spun;  and  August,  with  all  his 
soul  in  his  work,  and  little  rosy  Ermengilda's 
cheek  on  his  shoulder,  glowing  after  his  frozen 
afternoon,  cried  out  loud,  smiling,  as  he  looked 


14  THE   NURNBERG    STOVE 

up  at  the  stove  that  was  shedding  its  heat  down 
on  them  all : 

"  Oh,  dear  Hirschvogel !  you  are  almost  as 
great  and  good  as  the  sun !  No ;  you  are  greater 
and  better,  I  think,  because  he  goes  away  no- 
body knows  where  all  these  long,  dark,  cold 
hours,  and  does  not  care  how  people  die  for 
want  of  him ;  but  you — you  are  always  ready : 
just  a  little  bit  of  wood  to  feed  you,  and  you 
will  make  a  summer  for  us  all  the  winter 
through !  " 

The  grand  old  stove  seemed  to  smile  through 
all  its  irridescent  surface  at  the  praises  of  the 
child.  No  doubt  the  stove,  though  it  had 
known  three  centuries  and  more,  had  known 
but  very  little  gratitude. 

It  was  one  of  those  magnificent  stoves  in 
enamelled  faience  which  so  excited  the  jealousy 
of  the  other  potters  of  Niirnberg  that  in  a  body 
they  demanded  of  the  magistracy  that  Augus- 
tin  Hirschvogel  should  be  forbidden  to  make 
any  more  of  them, — the  magistracy,  happily, 
proving  of  a  broader  mind,  and  having  no 
sympathy  with  the  wish  of  the  artisans  to 
cripple  their  greater  fellow. 

It  was  of  great  height  and  breadth,  with  all 
the  majolica  lustre  which  Hirschvogel  learned 
to  give  to  his  enamels  when  he  was  making 
love  to  the  young  Venetian  girl  whom  he  after- 


THE    NURNBERG   STOVE  15 

wards  married.  There  was  the  statue  of  a 
king  at  each  corner,  modelled  with  as  much 
force  and  splendour  as  his  friend  Albrecht 
Diirer  could  have  given  unto  them  on  copper- 
plate or  canvas.  The  body  of  the  stove  itself 
was  divided  into  panels,  which  had  the  Ages 
of  Man  painted  on  them  in  polychrome;  the 
borders  of  the  panels  had  roses  and  holly  and 
laurel  and  other  foliage,  and  German  mottoes 
in  black  letter  of  odd  Old- World  moralising, 
such  as  the  old  Teutons,  and  the  Dutch  after 
them,  love  to  have  on  their  chimney-places  and 
their  drinking-cups,  their  dishes  and  flagons. 
The  whole  was  burnished  with  gilding  in  many 
parts,  and  was  radiant  everywhere  with  that 
brilliant  colouring  of  which  the  Hirschvogel 
family,  painters  on  glass  and  great  in  chemis- 
try as  they  were,  were  all  masters. 

The  stove  was  a  very  grand  thing,  as  I  say: 
possibly  Hirschvogel  had  made  it  for  some 
mighty  lord  of  the  Tyrol  at  that  time  when  he 
was  an  imperial  guest  at  Innspruck  and  fash- 
ioned so  many  things  for  the  Schloss  Amras 
and  beautiful  Philippine  Welser,  the  burgher's 
daughter,  who  gained  an  archduke's  heart  by 
her  beauty  and  the  right  to  wear  his  honours 
by  her  wit.  Nothing  was  known  of  the  stove 
at  this  latter  day  in  Hall.  The  grandfather 
Strehla,  who  had  been  a  master-mason,  had 


i6  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

dug  it  up  out  of  some  ruins  where  he  was 
building,  and,  finding  it  without  a  flaw,  had 
taken  it  home,  and  only  thought  it  worth  find- 
ing because  it  was  such  a  good  one  to  burn. 
That  was  now  sixty  years  past,  and  ever  since 
then  the  stove  had  stood  in  the  big,  desolate, 
empty  room,  warming  three  generations  of  the 
Strehla  family,  and  having  seen  nothing  pret- 
tier perhaps  in  all  its  many  years  than  the  chil- 
dren tumbled  now  in  a  cluster  like  gathered 
flowers  at  its  feet.  For  the  Strehla  children, 
born  to  nothing  else,  were  all  born  with  beauty : 
white  or  brown,  they  were  equally  lovely  to 
look  upon,  and  when  they  went  into  the  church 
to  mass,  with  their  curling  locks  and  clasped 
hands,  they  stood  under  the  grim  statues  like 
cherubs  flown  down  off  some  fresco. 

"  Tell  us  a  story,  August,"  they  cried,  in 
chorus,  when  they  had  seen  charcoal  pictures 
till  they  were  tired;  and  August  did  as  he  did 
every  night  pretty  nearly, — looked  up  at  the 
stove  and  told  them  what  he  imagined  of  the 
many  adventures  and  joys  and  sorrows  of  the 
human  being  who  figured  on  the  panels  from 
his  cradle  to  his  grave. 

To  the  children  the  stove  was  a  household 
god.  In  summer  they  laid  a  mat  of  fresh  moss 
all  round  it,  and  dressed  it  up  with  green 
boughs    and    the    numberless    beautiful    wild 


THE   NURNBERG    STOVE  17 

flowers  of  the  Tyrol  country.  In  winter  all 
their  joys  centred  in  it,  and  scampering  home 
from  school  over  the  ice  and  snow  they  were 
happy,  knowing  that  they  would  soon  be  crack- 
ing nuts  or  roasting  chestnuts  in  the  broad 
ardent  glow  of  its  noble  tower,  which  rose 
eight  feet  high  above  them  with  all  its  spires 
and  pinnacles  and  crowns. 

Once  a  travelling  peddler  had  told  them  that 
the  letters  on  it  meant  Augustin  Hirschvogel, 
and  that  Hirschvogel  had  been  a  great  German 
potter  and  painter,  like  his  father  before  him, 
in  the  art-sanctified  city  of  Niirnberg,  and  had 
made  many  such  stoves,  that  were  all  miracles 
of  beauty  and  of  workmanship,  putting  all  his 
heart  and  his  soul  and  his  faith  into  his  labours, 
as  the  men  of  those  earlier  ages  did,  and  think- 
ing but  little  of  gold  or  praise. 

An  old  trader,  too,  who  sold  curiosities  not 
far  from  the  church,  had  told  August  a  little 
more  about  the  brave  family  of  Hirschvogel, 
whose  houses  can  be  seen  in  Niirnberg  to  this 
day ;  of  old  Veit,  the  first  of  them,  who  painted 
the  Gothic  windows  of  St.  Sebald  with  the 
marriage  of  the  Margravine;  of  his  sons  and 
of  his  grandsons,  potters,  painters,  engravers 
all,  and  chief  of  them  great  Augustin,  the  Luca 
della  Robbia  of  the  North.  And  August's 
imagination,  always  quick,  had  made  a  living 


i8  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

personage  out  of  these  few  records,  and  saw 
Hirschvogel  as  though  he  were  in  the  flesh 
walking  up  and  down  the  Maximilian-Strass 
in  his  visit  to  Innspruck,  and  maturing  beau- 
tiful things  in  his  brain  as  he  stood  on  the 
bridge  and  gazed  on  the  emerald-green  flood 
of  the  Inn. 

So  the  stove  had  got  to  be  called  Hirsch- 
vogel in  the  family,  as  if  it  were  a  living  crea- 
ture, and  little  August  was  very  proud  because 
he  had  been  named  after  that  famous  old  dead 
German  who  had  had  the  genius  to  make  so 
glorious  a  thing.  All  the  children  loved  the 
stove,  but  with  August  the  love  of  it  was  a 
passion ;  and  in  his  secret  heart  he  used  to  say 
to  himself,  "  When  I  am  a  man,  I  will  make 
just  such  things,  too,  and  then  I  will  set  Hirsch- 
vogel in  a  beautiful  room  in  a  house  that  I 
will  build  myself  in  Innspruck  just  outside  the 
gates,  where  the  chestnuts  are,  by  the  river: 
that  is  what  I  will  do  when  I  am  a  man." 

For  August,  a  salt-baker's  son  and  a  little 
cowkeeper  when  he  was  anything,  was  a 
dreamer  of  dreams,  and  when  he  was  upon  the 
high  Alps  with  his  cattle,  with  the  stillness  and 
the  sky  around  him,  was  quite  certain  that  he 
would  live  for  greater  things  than  driving  the 
herds  up  when  the  spring-tide  came  among  the 
blue  sea  of  gentians,  or  toiling  down  in  the 


THE   NtJRNBERG   STOVE  19 

town  with  wood  and  with  timber  as  his  father 
and  grandfather  did  every  day  of  their  Hves. 
He  was  a  strong  and  healthy  Httle  fellow,  fed 
on  the  free  mountain  air,  and  he  was  very 
happy,  and  loved  his  family  devotedly,  and 
was  as  active  as  a  squirrel  and  as  playful  as 
a  hare;  but  he  kept  his  thoughts  to  himself, 
and  some  of  them  went  a  very  long  way  for 
a  little  boy  who  was  only  one  among  many, 
and  to  whom  nobody  had  ever  paid  any  at- 
tention except  to  teach  him  his  letters  and  tell 
him  to  fear  God,  August  in  winter  was  only 
a  little,  hungry  schoolboy,  trotting  to  be 
catechised  by  the  priest,  or  to  bring  the  loaves 
from  the  bake-house,  or  to  carry  his  father's 
boots  to  the  cobbler;  and  in  summer  he  was 
only  one  of  hundreds  of  cowboys,  who  drove 
the  poor,  half-blind,  blinking,  stumbling  cattle, 
ringing  their  throat-bells,  out  into  the  sweet 
intoxication  of  the  sudden  sunlight,  and  lived 
up  with  them  in  the  heights  among  the  Alpine 
roses,  with  only  the  clouds  and  the  snow-sum- 
mits near.  But  he  was  always  thinking,  think- 
ing, thinking  for  all  that;  and  under  his  little 
sheepskin  winter  coat  and  his  rough  hempen 
summer  shirt  his  heart  had  as  much  courage 
in  it  as  Hofer's  ever  had, — great  Hofer,  who 
is  a  household  word  in  all  the  Innthal.  and 
whom  August  always  reverently  remembered 


20  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

when  he  went  to  the  city  of  Innspruck  and  ran 
out  by  the  foaming  water-mill  and  under  the 
wooded  height  of  Berg  Isel. 

August  lay  now  in  the  warmth  of  the  stove 
and  told  the  children  stories,  his  own  little 
brown  face  growing  red  with  excitement  as 
his  imagination  glowed  to  fever-heat.  That 
human  being  on  the  panels,  who  was  drawn 
there  as  a  baby  in  a  cradle,  as  a  boy  playing 
among  flowers,  as  a  lover  sighing  under  a 
casement,  as  a  soldier  in  the  midst  of  strife, 
as  a  father  with  children  round  him,  as  a 
weary,  old,  blind  man  on  crutches,  and,  lastly, 
as  a  ransomed  soul  raised  up  by  angels,  had 
always  had  the  most  intense  interest  for  Au- 
gust, and  he  had  made,  not  one  history  for  him, 
but  a  thousand ;  he  seldom  told  them  the  same 
tale  twice.  He  had  never  seen  a  story  book 
in  his  life;  his  primer  and  his  mass-book  were 
all  the  volumes  he  had.  But  nature  had  given 
him  Fancy,  and  she  is  a  good  fairy  that  makes 
up  for  the  want  of  very  many  things!  only, 
alas!  her  wings  are  so  very  soon  broken,  poor 
thing,  and  then  she  is  of  no  use  at  all. 

"  It  is  time  for  you  all  to  go  to  bed,"  said 
Dorothea,  looking  up  from  her  spinning. 
"  Father  is  very  late  to-night ;  you  must  not 
sit  up  for  him." 

"  Oh,  five  minutes  more,  dear  Dorothea !  " 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  21 

they  pleaded;  and  little  rosy  and  golden  Er- 
mengilda  climbed  up  into  her  lap.  "  Hirsch- 
vogel  is  so  warm,  the  beds  are  never  so  warm 
as  he.  Cannot  you  tell  us  another  tale,  Au- 
gust?" 

"  No,"  cried  August,  whose  face  had  lost 
its  light,  now  that  his  story  had  come  to  an 
end,  and  who  sat  serious,  with  his  hands 
clasped  on  his  knees,  gazing  on  to  the  luminous 
arabesques  of  the  stove. 

"  It  is  only  a  week  to  Christmas,"  he  said 
suddenly. 

"  Grandmother's  big  cakes!  "  chuckled  little 
Christof,  who  was  five  years  old,  and  thought 
Christmas  meant  a  big  cake  and  nothing  else. 

"What  will  Santa  Claus  find  for  'Gilda  if 
she  be  good?"  murmured  Dorothea  over  the 
child's  sunny  head ;  for,  however  hard  poverty 
might  pinch,  it  could  never  pinch  so  tightly 
that  Dorothea  would  not  find  some  wooden 
toy  and  some  rosy  apples  to  put  in  her  little 
sister's  socks. 

"  Father  Max  has  promised  me  a  big  goose, 
because  I  saved  the  calf's  life  in  June,"  said 
August ;  it  was  the  twentieth  time  he  had  told 
them  so  that  month,  he  was  so  proud  of  it. 

"  And  Aunt  Maila  will  be  sure  to  send  us 
wine  and  honey  and  a  barrel  of  flour;  she  al- 
ways does,"  said  Albrecht.     Their  aunt  Maila 


22  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

had  a  chalet  and  a  Httle  farm  over  on  the  green 
slopes  towards  Dorp  Ampas. 

"  I  shall  go  up  into  the  woods  and  get 
Hirschvogel's  crown,"  said  August;  they  al- 
ways crowned  Hirschvogel  for  Christmas  with 
pine  boughs  and  ivy  and  mountain-berries. 
The  heat  soon  withered  the  crown ;  but  it  was 
part  of  the  religion  of  the  day  to  them,  as 
much  so  as  it  was  to  cross  themselves  in  church 
and  raise  their  voices  in  the  "  O  Salutaris 
Hostia." 

And  they  fell  chatting  of  all  they  would  do 
on  the  Christ-night,  and  one  little  voice  piped 
loud  against  another's,  and  they  were  as  happy 
as  though  their  stockings  would  be  full  of 
golden  purses  and  jewelled  toys,  and  the  big 
goose  in  the  soup-pot  seemed  to  them  such  a 
meal  as  kings  would  envy. 

In  the  midst  of  their  chatter  and  laughter  a 
blast  of  frozen  air  and  a  spray  of  driven  snow 
struck  like  ice  through  the  room,  and  reached 
them  even  in  the  warmth  of  the  old  wolf- 
skins and  the  great  stove.  It  was  the  door 
which  had  opened  and  let  in  the  cold;  it  was 
their  father  who  had  come  home. 

The  younger  children  ran  joyously  to  meet 
him.  Dorothea  pushed  the  one  wooden  arm- 
chair of  the  room  to  the  stove,  and  August 
flew  to  set  the  jug  of  beer  on  a  little  round 


THE    NURNBERG    STOVE  23 

table,  and  fill  a  long  clay  pipe ;  for  their  father 
was  good  to  them  all,  and  seldom  raised  his 
voice  in  anger,  and  they  had  been  trained  by 
the  mother  they  had  loved  to  dutifulness  and 
obedience  and  a  watchful  affection. 

To-night  Karl  Strehla  responded  very  wear- 
ily to  the  young  ones'  welcome,  and  came  to 
the  wooden  chair  with  a  tired  step  and  sat 
down  heavily,  not  noticing  either  pipe  or  beer. 

"  Are  you  not  well,  dear  father  ?  "  his  daugh- 
ter asked  him. 

"  I  am  well  enough,"  he  answered  dully,  and 
sat  there  with  his  head  bent,  letting  the  lighted 
pipe  grow  cold. 

He  was  a  fair,  tall  man,  grey  before  his  time, 
and  bowed  with  labour. 

"  Take  the  children  to  bed,"  he  said  sud- 
denly, at  last,  and  Dorothea  obeyed.  August 
stayed  behind,  curled  before  the  stove;  at  nine 
years  old,  and  when  one  earns  money  in  the 
summer  from  the  farmers,  one  is  not  altogether 
a  child  any  more,  at  least  in  one's  own  esti- 
mation. 

August  did  not  heed  his  father's  silence:  he 
was  used  to  it.  Karl  Strehla  was  a  man  of 
few  words,  and,  being  of  weakly  health,  was 
usually  too  tired  at  the  end  of  the  day  to  do 
more  than  drink  his  beer  and  sleep.  August 
lay  on  the  wolfskin,  dreamy  and  comfortable, 


24  THE   NURNBERG    STOVE 

looking  up  through  his  drooping  eyeHds  at  the 
golden  coronets  on  the  crest  of  the  great  stove 
and  wondering  for  the  millionth  time  whom  it 
had  been  made  for,  and  what  grand  places  and 
scenes  it  had  known. 

Dorothea  came  down  from  putting  the  little 
ones  in  their  beds ;  the  cuckoo-clock  in  the  cor- 
ner struck  eight;  she  looked  to  her  father  and 
the  untouched  pipe,  then  sat  down  to  her  spin- 
ning, saying  nothing.  She  thought  he  had  been 
drinking  in  some  tavern;  it  had  been  often  so 
with  him  of  late. 

There  was  a  long  silence;  the  cuckoo  called 
the  quarter  twice;  August  dropped  asleep,  his 
curls  falling  over  his  face;  Dorothea's  wheel 
hummed  like  a  cat. 

Suddenly  Karl  Strehla  struck  his  hand  on 
the  table,  sending  the  pipe  on  the  ground. 

"  I  have  sold  Hirschvogel,"  he  said,  and  his 
voice  was  husky  and  ashamed  in  his  throat. 
The  spinning-wheel  stopped.  August  sprang 
erect  out  of  his  sleep. 

"Sold  Hirschvogel!"  If  the  father  had 
dashed  the  holy  crucifix  on  the  floor  at  their 
feet  and  spat  on  it,  they  could  not  have  shud-< 
dered  under  the  horror  of  a  greater  blasphemy. 

"  I  have  sold  Hirschvogel ! "  said  Karl 
Strehla,  in  the  same  husky,  dogged  voice.  "  I 
have  sold  it  to  a  travelling  trader  in  such  things 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  25 

for  two  hundred  florins.  What  would  you  ? — 
I  owe  double  that.  He  saw  it  this  morning 
when  you  were  all  out.  He  will  pack  it  and 
take  it  to  Munich  to-morrow." 
Dorothea  gave  a  low  shrill  cry: 
"Oh,  father! — the  children! — In  mid- 
winter ! " 

She  turned  white  as  the  snow  without;  her 
words  died  away  in  her  throat. 

August  stood,  half  blind  with  sleep,  staring 
with  dazed  eyes  as  his  cattle  stared  at  the  sun 
when  they  came  out  from  their  winter's  prison. 
"  It  is  not  true !     It  is  not  true  1 "  he  mut- 
tered.    "  You  are  jesting,  father?  " 
Strehla  broke  into  a  dreary  laugh. 
"  It  is  true.     Would  you  like  to  know  what 
is  true,  too? — that  the  bread  you  eat,  and  the 
meat  you  put  in  this  pot,  and  the  roof  you  have 
over  your  heads,  are  none  of  them  paid  for, 
have  been  none  of  them  paid  for  for  months 
and  months :  if  it  had  not  iDcen  for  your  grand- 
father I  should  have  been  in  prison  all  summer 
and  autumn,  and  he  is  out  of  patience  and  will 
do  no  more  now.     There  is  no  work  to  be  had ; 
the  masters  go  to  younger  men :  they  say  I 
work  ill ;  it  may  be  so.    Who  can  keep  his  head 
above  water  with  ten  hungry  children  drag- 
ging him  down?    When  your  mother  lived,  it 
was  different.     Boy,  you  stare  at  me  as  if  I 


26  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

were  a  mad  dog!  You  have  made  a  god  of 
yon  china  thing.  Well — it  goes:  goes  to- 
morrow. Two  hundred  florins,  that  is  some- 
thing. It  will  keep  me  out  of  prison  for  a 
little,  and  with  the  spring  things  may 
turn " 

August  stood  like  a  creature  paralysed.  His 
eyes  were  wide  open,  fastened  on  his  father's 
with  terror  and  incredulous  horror;  his  face 
had  grown  as  white  as  his  sister's;  his  chest 
heaved  with  tearless  sobs. 

*'  It  is  not  true !  It  is  not  true !  "  he  echoed 
stupidly.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  very  skies 
must  fall,  and  the  earth  perish,  if  they  could 
take  away  Hirschvogel.  They  might  as  soon 
talk  of  tearing  down  God's  sun  out  of  the 
heavens. 

"  You  will  find  it  true,"  said  the  father  dog- 
gedly, and  angered  because  he  was  in  his  own 
soul  bitterly  ashamed  to  have  bartered  away 
the  heirloom  and  treasure  of  his  race  and  the 
comfort  and  health-giver  of  his  young  chil- 
dren. "  You  will  find  it  true.  The  dealer  has 
paid  me  half  the  money  to-night,  and  will  pay 
me  the  other  half  to-morrow  when  he  packs  it 
up  and  takes  it  away  to  Munich.  No  doubt  it 
is  worth  a  great  deal  more, — at  least  I  sup- 
pose so,  as  he  gives  that, — but  beggars  cannot 
be   choosers.     The   little  black   stove   in  the 


THE    NURNBERG    STOVE  27 

kitchen  will  warm  you  all  just  as  well.  Who 
would  keep  a  gilded,  painted  thing  in  a  poor 
house  like  this,  when  one  can  make  two  hun- 
dred florins  by  it?  Dorothea,  you  never  sobbed 
more  when  your  mother  died.  What  is  it, 
when  all  is  said  ? — a  bit  of  hardware  much  too 
grand-looking  for  such  a  room  as  this.  If  all 
the  Strehlas  had  not  been  born  fools  it  would 
have  been  sold  a  century  ago,  when  it  was  dug 
up  out  of  the  ground.  'It  is  a  stove  for  a 
museum,'  the  trader  said  when  he  saw  it.  To 
a  museum  let  it  go." 

August  gave  a  shrill  shriek  like  a  hare's 
when  it  is  caught  for  its  death,  and  threw  him- 
self on  his  knees  at  his  father's  feet. 

"  Oh,  father,  father !  "  he  cried  convulsively, 
his  hands  closing  on  Strehla's  knees,  and  his 
uplifted  face  blanched  and  distorted  with  ter- 
ror. "  Oh,  father,  dear  father,  you  cannot 
mean  what  you  say?  Send  it  away — our  life, 
our  sun,  our  joy,  our  comfort?  We  shall  all 
die  in  the  dark  and  the  cold.  Sell  me  rather. 
Sell  me  to  any  trade  or  any  pain  you  like ;  I  will 
not  mind.  But  Hirschvogel ! — it  is  like  selling 
the  very  cross  off  the  altar!  You  must  be  in 
jest.  You  could  not  do  such  a  thing — you 
could  not! — you  who  have  always  been  gentle 
and  good,  and  who  have  sat  in  the  warmth 
here  year  after  year  with  our  mother.     It  is 


28  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

not  a  piece  of  hardware,  as  you  say;  it  is  a 
living  thing,  for  a  great  man's  thoughts  and 
fancies  have  put  life  into  it,  and  it  loves  us 
though  we  are  only  poor  little  children,  and 
we  love  it  with  all  our  hearts  and  souls,  and 
up  in  heaven  I  am  sure  the  dead  Hirschvogel 
knows !  Oh,  listen ;  I  will  go  and  try  and  get 
work  to-morrow!  I  will  ask  them  to  let  me 
cut  ice  or  make  the  paths  through  the  snow. 
There  must  be  something  I  could  do,  and  I 
will  beg  the  people  we  owe  money  to  to  wait ; 
they  are  all  neighbours,  they  will  be  patient. 
But  sell  Hirschvogel! — oh,  never!  never! 
never!  Give  the  florins  back  to  the  vile  man. 
Tell  him  it  would  be  like  selling  the  shroud 
out  of  mother's  coffin,  or  the  golden  curls  off 
Ermengilda's  head!  Oh,  father,  dear  father! 
do  hear  me,  for  pity's  sake!" 

Strehla  was  moved  by  the  boy's  anguish.  He 
loved  his  children,  though  he  was  often  weary 
of  them,  and  their  pain  was  pain  to  him.  But 
besides  emotion,  and  stronger  than  emotion, 
was  the  anger  that  August  roused  in  him :  he 
hated  and  despised  himself  for  the  barter  of 
the  heirloom  of  his  race,  and  every  word  of 
the  child  stung  him  with  a  stinging  sense  of 
shame. 

And  he  spoke  in  his  wrath  rather  than  in  his 
sorrow. 


THE    NURNBERG    STOVE  29 

"  You  are  a  little  fool,"  he  said  harshly,  as 
they  had  never  heard  him  speak.  "  You  rave 
like  a  play-actor.  Get  up  and  go  to  bed.  The 
stove  is  sold.  There  is  no  more  to  be  said. 
Children  like  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  such 
matters.  The  stove  is  sold,  and  goes  to  Munich 
to-morrow.  What  is  it  to  you?  Be  thankful 
I  can  get  bread  for  you.  Get  on  your  legs,  I 
say,  and  go  to  bed." 

Strehla  took  up  the  jug  of  ale  as  he  paused, 
and  drained  it  slowly  as  a  man  who  had  no 
cares. 

August  sprang  to  his  feet  and  threw  his  hair 
back  off  his  face;  the  blood  rushed  into  his 
cheeks,  making  them  scarlet;  his  great  soft 
eyes  flamed  alight  with  furious  passion. 

"  You  dare  not !  "  he  cried  aloud ;  "  you  dare 
not  sell  it,  I  say!  It  is  not  yours  alone;  it  is 
ours " 

Strehla  flung  the  emptied  jug  on  the  bricks 
with  a  force  that  shivered  it  to  atoms,  and,  ris- 
ing to  his  feet,  struck  his  son  a  blow  that  felled 
him  to  the  floor.  It  was  the  first  time  in  all 
his  life  that  he  had  ever  raised  his  hand  against 
any  one  of  his  children. 

Then  he  took  the  oil-lamp  that  stood  at  his 
elbow  and  stumbled  off  to  his  own  chamber 
with  a  cloud  before  his  eyes. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  said  August,  a  little 


30  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

while  later,  as  he  opened  his  eyes  and  saw 
Dorothea  weeping  above  him  on  the  wolfskin 
before  the  stove.  He  had  been  struck  back- 
ward, and  his  head  had  fallen  on  the  hard 
bricks  where  the  wolfskin  did  not  reach.  He 
sat  up  a  moment,  with  his  face  bent  upon  his 
hands. 

"  I  remember  now,"  he  said,  very  low,  under 
his  breath. 

Dorothea  showered  kisses  on  him,  while  her 
tears  fell  like  rain. 

"  But,  oh,  dear,  how  could  you  speak  so  to 
father  ? "  she  murmured,  "  It  was  very 
wrong." 

"  No,  I  was  right,"  said  August,  and  his 
little  mouth,  that  hitherto  had  only  curled  in 
laughter,  curved  downward  with  a  fixed  and 
bitter  seriousness.  "How  dare  he?  How  dare 
he?"  he  muttered,  with  his  head  sunk  in  his 
hands.  "  It  is  not  his  alone.  It  belongs  to 
us  all.  It  is  as  much  yours  and  mine  as  it  is 
his." 

Dorothea  could  only  sob  in  answer.  She 
was  too  frightened  to  speak.  The  authority 
of  their  parents  in  the  house  had  never  in  her 
remembrance  been  questioned. 

"  Are  you  hurt  by  the  fall,  dear  August  ?  '* 
she  murmured,  at  length,  for  he  looked  to  her 
so  pale  and  strange. 


THE    NURNBERG   STOVE  31 

'"'  Yes — -Jio.  I  do  not  know.  What  does  it 
matter?" 

He  sat  up  upon  the  wolfskin  with  passionate 
pain  upon  his  face;  all  his  soul  was  in  rebel- 
lion, and  he  was  only  a  child  and  was  power- 
less. 

"  It  is  a  sin ;  it  is  a  theft ;  it  is  an  infamy," 
he  said  slowly,  his  eyes  fastened  on  the  gilded 
feet  of  Hirschvogel. 

"  Oh,  August,  do  not  say  such  things  of 
father!"  sobbed  his  sister.  "Whatever  he 
does,  we  ought  to  think  it  right." 

August  laughed  aloud. 

"  Is  it  right  that  he  should  spend  his  money 
in  drink? — that  he  should  let  orders  lie  unex- 
ecuted ? — that  he  should  do  his  work  so  ill  that 
no  one  cares  to  employ  him? — that  he  should 
live  on  grandfather's  charity,  and  then  dare  sell 
a  thing  that  is  ours  every  whit  as  much  as  it 
is  his  ?  To  sell  Hirschvogel !  Oh,  dear  God  I 
I  would  sooner  sell  my  soul !  " 

"  August !  "  cried  Dorothea,  with  piteous 
entreaty.  He  terrified  her;  she  could  not  rec- 
ognise her  little,  gay,  gentle  brother  in  those 
fierce  and  blasphemous  words. 

August  laughed  aloud  again;  then  all  at 
once  his  laughter  broke  down  into  bitterest 
weeping.  He  threw  himself  forward  on  the 
stove,   covering    it    with    kisses,    and    sobbing 


32  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

as  though  his  heart  would  burst  from  his 
bosom. 

What  could  he  do?  Nothing,  nothing, 
nothing ! 

"  August,  dear  August,"  whispered  Doro- 
thea piteously,  and  trembling  all  over, — for 
she  was  a  very  gentle  girl,  and  fierce  feeling 
terrified  her, — "  August,  do  not  lie  there. 
Come  to  bed :  it  is  quite  late.  In  the  morning 
you  will  be  calm.er.  It  is  horrible  indeed,  and 
we  shall  die  of  cold,  at  least  the  little  ones; 
but  if  it  be  father's  will " 

"  Let  me  alone,"  said  August,  through  his 
teeth,  striving  to  still  the  storm  of  sobs  that 
shook  him  from  head  to  foot.  "  Let  me  alone. 
In  the  morning! — how  can  you  speak  of  the 
morning?  " 

"  Come  to  bed,  dear,"  sighed  his  sister. 
"  Oh,  August,  do  not  lie  and  look  like  that ! 
You  frighten  me.     Do  come  to  bed." 

"  I  shall  stay  here." 

"Here!     All  night?" 

"  They  might  take  it  in  the  night.  Besides, 
to  leave  it  now! " 

"  But  it  is  cold !  the  fire  is  out," 

"  It  will  never  be  warm  any  more,  nor  shall 
we." 

All  his  childhood  had  gone  out  of  him,  all 
h*is  gleeful,  careless,  sunny  temper  had  gone 


THE    NURNBERG   STOVE  33 

with  it ;  he  spoke  sullenly  and  wearily,  choking 
down  the  great  sobs  in  his  chest.  To  him  it 
was  as  if  the  end  of  the  world  had  come. 

His  sister  lingered  by  him  while  striving  to 
persuade  him.  lo  go  to  his  place  in  the  little 
crowded  bedchamber  with  Albrecht  and  Waldo 
and  Christof.  But  it  was  in  vain.  "  I  shall 
stay  here,"  was  all  he  answered  her.  And  he 
stayed, — all  the  night  long. 

The  lamps  went  out;  the  rats  came  and  ran 
across  the  floor;  as  the  hours  crept  on  through 
midnight  and  past,  the  cold  intensified  and 
the  air  of  the  room  grew  like  ice.  August  did 
not  move ;  he  lay  with  his  face  downward  on 
the  golden  and  rainbow-hued  pedestal  of  the 
household  treasure,  which  henceforth  was  to 
be  cold  for  evermore,  an  exiled  thing  in  a  for- 
eign city  in  a  far-off  land. 

Whilst  yet  it  was  dark  his  three  elder  broth- 
ers came  down  the  stairs  and  let  themselves 
out,  each  bearing  his  lantern  and  going  to  his 
work  in  stone-yard  and  timber-yard  and  at  the 
salt-works.  They  did  not  notice  him;  they 
did  not  know  what  had  happened. 

A  little  later  his  sister  came  down  with  a 
light  in  her  hand  to  make  ready  the  house  ere 
morning  should  break. 

She  stole  up  to  him  and  laid  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder  timidly. 


34  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

*'*  Dear  August,  you  must  be  frozen.  August, 
do  look  up !  do  speak !  " 

August  raised  his  eyes  with  a  wild,  feverish, 
sullen  look  in  them  that  she  had  never  seen 
there.  His  face  was  ashen  white :  his  lips  were 
like  fire.  He  had  not  slept  all  night;  but  his 
passionate  sobs  had  given  way  to  delirious 
waking  dreams  and  numb  senseless  trances, 
which  had  alternated  one  on  another  all 
through  the  freezing,  lonely,  horrible  hours. 

"  It  will  never  be  warm  again,"  he  muttered, 
"  never  again !  " 

Dorothea  clasped  him  with  trembling  hands. 

"  August!  do  you  not  know  me?  "  she  cried, 
in  an  agony.  "  I  am  Dorothea.  Wake  up, 
dear — wake  up !    It  is  morning,  only  so  dark !  " 

August  shuddered  all  over. 

"  The  morning !  "  he  echoed. 

He  slowly  rose  up  on  to  his  feet. 

"  I  will  go  to  grandfather,"  he  said,  very 
low.  "  He  is  always  good :  perhaps  he  could 
save  it." 

Loud  blows  with  the  heavy  iron  knocker  of 
the  house-door  drowned  his  words.  A  strange 
voice  called  aloud  through  the  keyhole : 

"  Let  me  in !  Quick ! — there  is  no  time  to 
lose !  More  snow  like  this,  and  the  roads  will 
all  be  blocked.  Let  me  in!  Do  you  hear?  I 
am  come  to  take  the  great  stove." 


THE    NURNBERG   STOVE  35 

August  sprang  erect,  his  fists  doubled,  liis 
eyes  blazing. 

"You  shall  never  touch  it!"  he  screamed; 
"  you  shall  never  touch  it !  " 

"  Who  shall  prevent  us  ?  "  laughed  a  big 
man,  who  was  a  Bavarian,  amused  at  the  fierce 
little  figure  fronting  him. 

"  I !  "  said  August,  "  You  shall  never  have 
it !    You  shall  kill  me  first !  " 

"  Strehla,"  said  the  big  man,  as  August's 
father  entered  the  room,  "  you  have  got  a  little 
mad  dog  here:  muzzle  him." 

One  way  and  another  they  did  muzzle  him. 
He  fought  like  a  little  demon,  and  hit  out  right 
and  left,  and  one  of  his  blows  gave  the  Bava- 
rian a  black  eye.  But  he  was  soon  mastered 
by  four  grown  men,  and  his  father  flung  him 
with  no  light  hand  out  from  the  door  of  the 
back  entrance,  and  the  buyers  of  the  stately 
and  beautiful  stove  set  to  work  to  pack  it 
heedfully  and  carry  it  away. 

When  Dorothea  stole  out  to  look  for  Au- 
gust he  was  nowhere  in  sight.  She  went  back 
to  little  'Gilda,  who  was  ailing,  and  sobbed  over 
the  child,  whilst  the  others  stood  looking  on, 
dimly  understanding  that  with  Hirschvogel 
was  going  all  the  warmth  of  their  bodies,  all 
the  light  of  their  hearth. 

Even    their    father    now    was    sorry    and 


36  THE   NURNBERG    STOVE 

ashamed ;  but  two  hundred  florins  seemed  a  big 
sum  to  him,  and,  after  all,  he  thought  the 
children  could  warm  themselves  quite  as  well 
at  the  black  iron  stove  in  the  kitchen.  Besides, 
whether  he  regretted  it  now  or  not,  the  work 
of  the  Niirnberg  potter  was  sold  irrevocably, 
and  he  had  to  stand  still  and  see  the  men  from 
Munich  wrap  it  in  manifold  wrappings  and 
bear  it  out  into  the  snowy  air  to  where  an  ox- 
cart stood  in  waiting  for  it. 

In  another  moment  Hirschvogel  was  gone, 
— gone  forever  and  aye. 

August  had  stood  still  for  a  time,  leaning, 
sick  and  faint  from  the  violence  that  had  been 
used  to  him,  against  the  back  wall  of  the  house. 
The  wall  looked  on  a  court  where  a  well  was, 
and  the  backs  of  other  houses,  and  beyond 
them  the  spire  of  the  Muntze  Tower  and  the 
peaks  of  the  mountains. 

Into  the  court  an  old  neighbour  hobbled  for 
water,  and,  seeing  the  boy,  said  to  him : 

"  Child,  is  it  true  your  father  is  selling  the 
big  painted  stove?" 

August  nodded  his  head,  then  burst  into  a 
passion  of  tears. 

"  Well,  for  sure  he  is  a  fool,"  said  the  neigh- 
bour. "  Heaven  forgive  me  for  calling  him  so 
before  his  own  child !  but  the  stove  was  worth 
a  mint  of  money.    I  do  remember  in  my  young 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  Z7 

days,  in  old  Anton's  time  (that  was  your  great- 
grandfather, my  lad),  a  stranger  from  Vienna 
saw  it,  and  said  that  it  was  worth  its  weight 
in  gold." 

August's  sobs  went  on  their  broken,  impet- 
uous course. 

"  I  loved  it !  I  loved  it !  "  he  moaned.  "  I 
do  not  care  what  its  value  was.  I  loved  it! 
1  loved  it  I" 

"  You  little  simpleton !  "  said  the  old  man 
kindly.  "  But  you  are  wiser  than  your  father, 
when  all's  said.  If  sell  it  he  must,  he  should 
have  taken  it  to  good  Herr  Steiner  over  at 
Spriiz,  who  would  have  given  him  honest 
value.  But  no  doubt  they  took  him  over  his 
beer, — ay,  ay!  But  if  I  were  you  I  would  do 
better  than  cry.     I  would  go  after  it." 

August  raised  his  head,  the  tears  raining 
down  his  cheeks. 

"  Go  after  it  when  you  are  bigger,"  said  the 
neighbour,  with  a  good-natured  wish  to  cheer 
him  up  a  little.  "  The  world  is  a  small  thing 
after  all :  I  was  a  travelling  clockmaker  once 
upon  a  time,  and  I  know  that  your  stove  will 
be  safe  enough  whoever  gets  it;  anything  that 
can  be  sold  for  a  round  sum  is  always  wrapped 
up  in  cotton  wool  by  everybody.  Ay,  ay,  don't 
cry  so  much ;  you  will  see  your  stove  again 
some  day." 


38  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

Then  the  old  man  hobbled  away  to  draw 
his  brazen  pail  full  of  water  at  the  well. 

August  remained  leaning  against  the  wall; 
his  head  was  buzzing  and  his  heart  fluttering 
with  the  new  idea  which  had  presented  itself 
to  his  mind.  "  Go  after  it,"  had  said  the  old 
man.  He  thought,  "Why  not  go  with  it?" 
He  loved  it  better  than  any  one,  even  better 
than  Dorothea;  and  he  shrank  from  the 
thought  of  meeting  his  father  again,  his  father 
who  had  sold  Hirschvogel. 

He  was  by  this  time  in  that  state  of  exalta- 
tion in  which  the  impossible  looks  quite  natural 
and  commonplace.  His  tears  were  still  wet  on 
his  pale  cheeks,  but  they  had  ceased  to  fall.  He 
ran  out  of  the  courtyard  by  a  little  gate,  and 
across  to  the  huge  Gothic  porch  of  the  church. 
From  there  he  could  watch  unseen  his  father's 
house-door,  at  which  were  always  hanging 
some  blue-and-grey  pitchers,  such  as  are  com- 
mon and  so  picturesque  in  Austria,  for  a  part 
of  the  house  was  let  to  a  man  who  dealt  in 
pottery. 

He  hid  himself  in  the  grand  portico,  which 
he  had  so  often  passed  through  to  go  to  mass 
or  compline  within,  and  presently  his  heart 
gave  a  great  leap,  for  he  saw  the  straw-en- 
wrapped stove  brought  out  and  laid  with  in- 
finite care  on  the  bullock-dray.     Two  of  the 


THE   NURNBERG    STOVE  39 

Bavarian  men  mounted  beside  it,  and  the 
sleigh-wagon  slowly  crept  over  the  snow  of  the 
place, — snow  crisp  and  hard  as  stone.  The 
noble  old  minster  looked  its  grandest  and  most 
solemn,  with  its  dark  grey  stone  and  its  vast 
archways,  and  its  porch  that  was  itself  as  big 
as  many  a  church,  and  its  strange  gargoyles 
and  lamp-irons  black  against  the  snow  on  its 
roof  and  on  the  pavement;  but  for  once  Au- 
gust had  no  eyes  for  it:  he  only  watched  for 
his  old  friend.  Then  he,  a  little  unnoticeable 
figure  enough,  like  a  score  of  other  boys  in 
Hall,  crept,  unseen  by  any  of  his  brothers  or 
sisters,  out  of  the  porch  and  over  the  shelving, 
uneven  square  and  followed  in  the  wake  of  the 
dray. 

Its  course  lay  towards  the  station  of  the 
railway,  which  is  close  to  the  salt-works,  whose 
smoke  at  times  sullies  this  part  of  clean  little 
Hall,  though  it  does  not  do  very  much  dam- 
age. From  Hall  the  iron  road  runs  northward 
through  glorious  country  to  Salzburg,  Vienna, 
Prague,  Buda,  and  southward  over  the  Bren- 
ner into  Italy.  Was  Hirschvogel  going  north 
or  south?  This,  at  the  least,  he  would  soon 
know. 

August  had  often  hung  about  the  little  sta- 
tion, watching  the  trains  come  and  go  and 
dive  into  the  heart  of  the  hills  and  vanish. 


40  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

No  one  said  anything  to  him  for  idHngf  about  *, 
people  are  kind-hearted  and  easy  of  temper  in 
this  pleasant  land,  and  children  and  dogs  are 
both  happy  there.  He  heard  the  Bavarians 
arguing  and  vociferating  a  great  deal,  and 
learned  that  they  meant  to  go,  too,  and  wanted 
to  go  with  the  great  stove  itself.  But  this 
they  could  not  do,  for  neither  could  the  stove 
go  by  a  passenger  train  nor  they  themselves 
go  in  a  goods  train.  So  at  length  they  insured 
their  precious  burden  for  a  large  sum,  and 
consented  to  send  it  by  a  luggage  train  which 
was  to  pass  through  Hall  in  half  an  hour. 
The  swift  trains  seldom  deign  to  notice  the 
existence  of  Hall  at  all. 

August  heard,  and  a  desperate  resolve  made 
itself  up  in  his  little  mind.  Where  Hirsch- 
vogel  went  would  he  go.  He  gave  one  terrible 
thought  to  Dorothea — poor,  gentle  Dorothea! 
— sitting  in  the  cold  at  home,  then  set  to 
work  to  execute  his  project.  How  he  man- 
aged it  he  never  knew  very  clearly  himself, 
but  certain  it  is  that  when  the  goods  train 
from  the  north,  that  had  come  all  the  way 
from  Linz  on  the  Danube,  moved  out  of  Hall, 
August  was  hidden  behind  the  stove  in  the 
great  covered  truck,  and  wedged,  unseen  and 
undreamt  of  by  any  human  creature,  amidst 
the  cases  of  wood-carving,  of  clocks  and  clock- 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  41 

work,  of  Vienna  toys,  of  Turkish  carpets,  of 
Russian  skins,  of  Hungarian  wines,  which 
shared  the  same  abode  as  did  his  swathed  and 
bound  HirschvogeL  No  doubt  he  was  very 
naughty,  but  it  never  occurred  to  him  that  he 
was  so:  his  whole  mind  and  soul  were  ab- 
sorbed in  the  one  entrancing  idea,  to  follow 
his  beloved  friend  and  fire-king. 

It  was  very  dark  in  the  closed  truck,  which 
had  only  a  little  window  above  the  door;  and 
it  was  crowded,  and  had  a  strong  smell  in  it 
from  the  Russian  hides  and  the  hams  that  were 
in  it  But  August  was  not  frightened;  he  was 
close  to  Hirschvogel,  and  presently  he  meant 
to  be  closer  still ;  for  he  meant  to  do  nothing 
less  than  get  inside  Hirschvogel  itself.  Be- 
ing a  shrewd  little  boy,  and  having  had  by 
great  luck  two  silver  groschen  in  his  breeches- 
pocket,  which  he  had  earned  the  day  before 
by  chopping  wood,  he  had  bought  some  bread 
and  sausage  at  the  station  of  a  woman  there 
who  knew  him,  and  who  thought  he  was  go- 
ing out  to  his  Uncle  Joachim's  chalet  above 
Jenbach.  This  he  had  with  him,  and  this  he 
ate  in  the  darkness  and  the  lumbering,  pound- 
ing, thundering  noise  which  made  him  giddy,  as 
never  had  he  been  in  a  train  of  any  kind  before. 
Still  he  ate,  having  had  no  breakfast,  and 
being  a  child,   and   half  a  German,   and  not 


42  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

knowing-  at  all  how  or  when  he  ever  would 
eat  again. 

When  he  had  eaten,  not  as  much  as  he 
wanted,  but  as  much  as  he  thought  was  pru- 
dent (for  who  could  say  when  he  would  be 
able  to  buy  anything  more?),  he  set  to  work 
like  a  little  mouse  to  make  a  hole  in  the  withes 
of  straw  and  hay  which  enveloped  the  stove. 
If  it  had  been  put  in  a  packing-case  he  would 
have  been  defeated  at  the  onset.  As  it  was, 
he  gnawed,  and  nibbled,  and  pulled,  and 
pushed,  just  as  a  mouse  would  have  done, 
making  his  hole  where  he  guessed  that  the 
opening  of  the  stove  was, — the  opening 
through  which  he  had  so  often  thrust  the  big 
oak  logs  to  feed  it.  No  one  disturbed  him; 
the  heavy  train  went  lumbering  on  and  on,  and 
he  saw  nothing  at  all  of  the  beautiful  moun- 
tains, and  shining  waters,  and  great  forests 
through  which  he  was  being  carried.  He  was 
hard  at  work  getting  through  the  straw  and 
hay  and  twisted  ropes ;  and  get  through  them 
at  last  he  did,  and  found  the  door  of  the  stove, 
which  he  knew  so  well,  and  which  was  quite 
large  enough  for  a  child  of  his  age  to  slip 
through,  and  it  was  this  which  he  had  counted 
upon  doing.  Slip  through  he  did,  as  he  had 
often  done  at  home  for  fun,  and  curled  him- 
self up  there  to  see  if  he  could  anyhow  remain 


THE   NURNBERG    STOVE  43 

during  many  hours.  He  found  that  he  could ; 
air  came  in  through  the  brass  fret-work  of 
the  stove;  and  with  admirable  caution  in  such 
a  little  fellow  he  leaned  out,  drew  the  hay  and 
straw  together,  and  rearranged  the  ropes,  so 
that  no  one  could  ever  have  dreamed  a  little 
mouse  had  been  at  them.  Then  he  curled  him- 
self up  again,  this  time  more  like  a  dormouse 
than  anything  else,  and,  being  safe  inside  his 
dear  Hirschvogel  and  intensely  cold,  he  went 
fast  asleep  as  if  he  were  in  his  own  bed  at 
home  with  Albrecht  and  Christof  on  either  side 
of  him.  The  train  lumbered  on,  stopping  often 
and  long,  as  the  habit  of  goods  trains  is, 
sweeping  the  snow  away  with  its  cow-switcher, 
and  rumbling  through  the  deep  heart  of  the 
mountains,  with  its  lamps  aglow  like  the  eyes 
of  a  dog  in  a  night  of  frost. 

The  train  rolled  on  in  its  heavy,  slow  fash- 
ion, and  the  child  slept  soundly  for  a  long 
while.  When  he  did  awake,  it  was  quite 
dark  outside  in  the  land;  he  could  not  see, 
and  of  course  he  was  in  absolute  darkness; 
and  for  a  while  he  was  sorely  frightened,  and 
trembled  terribly,  and  sobbed  in  a  quiet,  heart- 
broken fashion,  thinking  of  them  all  at  home. 
Poor  Dorothea!  how  anxious  she  would  be! 
How  she  would  run  over  the  town  and  walk 
up  to  grandfather's  at  Dorf  Ampas,  and  per- 


44  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

haps  even  send  over  to  Jenbach,  thinking  he 
had  taken  refuge  with  Uncle  Joachim !  His 
conscience  smote  him  for  the  sorrow  he  must 
be  even  then  causing  to  his  gentle  sister;  but 
it  never  occurred  to  him  to  try  and  go  back. 
If  he  once  were  to  lose  sight  of  Hirschvogel 
how  could  he  ever  hope  to  find  it  again  ?  How 
could  he  ever  know  whither  it  had  gone, — 
north,  south,  east,  or  west  ?  The  old  neighbour 
had  said  that  the  world  was  small;  but  Au- 
gust knew  at  least  that  it  must  have  a  great 
many  places  in  it :  that  he  had  seen  himself  on 
the  maps  on  his  schoolhouse  walls.  Almost 
any  other  little  boy  would,  I  think,  have  been 
frightened  out  of  his  wits  at  the  position  in 
which  he  found  himself;  but  August  was  brave, 
and  he  had  a  firm  belief  that  God  and  Hirsch- 
vogel would  take  care  of  him.  The  master- 
potter  of  Nurnberg  was  always  present  to  his 
mind,  a  kindly,  benign,  and  gracious  spirit, 
dwelling  manifestly  in  that  porcelain  tower 
whereof  he  had  been  the  maker, 

A  droll  fancy,  you  say?  But  every  child 
with  a  soul  in  him  has  quite  as  quaint  fancies 
as  this  one  was  of  August's. 

So  he  got  over  his  terror  and  his  sobbing 
both,  though  he  was  so  utterly  in  the  dark.  He 
did  not  feel  cramped  at  all,  because  the  stove 
was  so  large,  and  air  he  had  in  plenty,  as  it 


THE    NURNBERG   STOVE  45 

came  through  the  fret-work  running  round  the 
top.  He  was  hungry  again,  and  again  nibbled 
with  prudence  at  his  loaf  and  his  sausage.  He 
could  not  at  all  tell  the  hour.  Every  time  the 
train  stopped  and  he  heard  the  banging,  stamp- 
ing, shouting,  and  jangling  of  chains  that  went 
on,  his  heart  seemed  to  jump  up  into  his  mouth. 
If  they  should  find  him  out !  Sometimes  por- 
ters came  and  took  away  this  case  and  the 
other,  a  sack  here,  a  bale  there,  now  a  big  bag, 
now  a  dead  chamois.  Every  time  the  men 
trampled  near  him,  and  swore  at  each  other, 
and  banged  this  and  that  to  and  fro,  he  was 
so  frightened  that  his  very  breath  seemed  to 
stop.  When  they  came  to  lift  the  stove  out, 
would  they  find  him?  And  if  they  did  find 
him,  would  they  kill  him?  That  was  what  he 
kept  thinking  of  all  the  way,  all  through  the 
dark  hours,  which  seemed  without  end.  The 
goods  trains  are  usually  very  slow,  and  are 
many  days  doing  what  a  quick  train  does  in 
a  few  hours.  This  one  was  quicker  than  most, 
because  it  was  bearing  goods  to  the  King  of 
Bavaria;  still,  it  took  all  the  short  winter's 
day  and  the  long  winter's  night  and  half  an- 
other day  to  go  over  ground  that  the  mail- 
trains  cover  in  a  forenoon.  It  passed  great 
armored  Kuffstein  standing  across  the  beau- 
tiful and  solemn  gorge,  denying  the  right  of 


46  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

way  to  all  the  foes  of  Austria.  It  passed 
twelve  hours  later,  after  lying  by  in  out-of- 
the-way  stations,  pretty  Rosenheim,  that  marks 
the  border  of  Bavaria.  And  here  the  Niirn- 
berg  stove,  with  August  inside  it,  was  lifted 
out  heedfully  and  set  under  a  covered  way. 
When  it  was  lifted  out,  the  boy  had  hard  work 
to  keep  in  his  screams;  he  was  tossed  to  and 
fro  as  the  men  lifted  the  huge  thing,  and  the 
earthenware  walls  of  his  beloved  fire-king  were 
not  cushions  of  down.  However,  though  they 
swore  and  grumbled  at  the  weight  of  it,  they 
never  suspected  that  a  living  child  was  inside 
it,  and  they  carried  it  out  on  to  the  platform 
and  set  it  down  under  the  roof  of  the  goods- 
shed. 

There  it  passed  the  rest  of  the  night  and 
all  the  next  morning,  and  August  was  all  the 
while  within  it. 

The  winds  of  early  winter  sweep  bitterly 
over  Rosenheim,  and  all  the  vast  Bavarian 
plain  was  one  white  sheet  of  snow.  If  there 
had  not  been  whole  armies  of  men  at  work 
always  clearing  the  iron  rails  of  the  snow,  no 
trains  could  ever  have  run  at  all.  Happily  for 
August,  the  thick  wrappings  in  which  the  stove 
was  enveloped  and  the  stoutness  of  its  own 
make  screened  him  from  the  cold,  of  which, 
else,  he  must  have  died, — frozen.    He  had  still 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  47 

some  of  his  loaf,  and  a  little — a  very  little — 
of  his  sausage.  What  he  did  begin  to  suffer 
from  was  thirst;  and  this  frightened  him  al- 
most more  than  anything  else,  for  Dorothea 
had  read  aloud  to  them  one  night  a  story  of 
the  tortures  some  wrecked  men  had  endured 
because  they  could  not  find  any  water  but  the 
salt  sea.  It  was  many  hours  since  he  had  last 
taken  a  drink  from  the  wooden  spout  of  their 
old  pump,  which  brought  them  the  sparkling, 
ice-cold  water  of  the  hills. 

But,  fortunately  for  him,  the  stove,  having 
been  marked  and  registered  as  "  fragile  and 
valuable,"  was  not  treated  quite  like  a  mere 
bale  of  goods,  and  the  Rosenheim  station- 
master,  who  knew  its  consignees,  resolved  to 
send  it  on  by  a  passenger  train  that  would  leave 
at  daybreak.  And  when  this  train  went  out, 
in  it,  among  piles  of  luggage  belonging  to 
other  travellers,  to  Vienna,  Prague,  Buda-Pest, 
Salzburg,  was  August,  still  undiscovered,  still 
doubled  up  like  a  mole  in  the  winter  under 
the  grass.  Those  words,  "  fragile  and  valu- 
able," had  made  the  men  lift  Hirschvogel 
gently  and  with  care.  He  had  begun  to  get 
used  to  his  prison,  and  a  little  used  to  the  in- 
cessant pounding  and  jumbling  and  rattling 
and  shaking  with  which  modern  travel  is  al- 
ways accompanied,  though  modern  invention 


48  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

does  deem  itself  so  mightily  clever.  All  in  the 
dark  he  was,  and  he  was  terribly  thirsty;  but 
he  kept  feeling-  the  earthenware  sides  of  the 
Niirnberg  giant  and  saying  softly,  "  Take  care 
of  me;  oli,  take  care  of  me,  dear  Hirsch- 
vogel!" 

He  did  not  say,  "  Take  me  back  " ;  for,  now 
that  he  was  fairly  out  in  the  world,  he  wished 
to  see  a  little  of  it.  He  began  to  think  that 
they  must  have  been  all  over  the  world  in  all 
this  time  that  the  rolling  and  roaring  and  hiss- 
ing and  jangling  had  been  about  his  ears; 
shut  up  in  the  dark,  he  began  to  remember  all 
the  tales  that  had  been  told  in  Yule  round  the 
fire  at  his  grandfather's  good  house  at  Dorf, 
of  gnomes  and  elves  and  subterranean  terrors, 
and  the  Erl  King  riding  on  the  black  horse  of 
night,  and — and — and  he  began  to  sob  and  to 
tremble  again,  and  this  time  did  scream  out- 
right. But  the  steam  was  screaming  itself  so 
loudly  that  no  one,  had  there  been  any  one 
nigh,  would  have  heard  him;  and  in  another 
minute  or  so  the  train  stopped  with  a  jar  and 
a  jerk,  and  he  in  his  cage  could  hear  men 
crying  aloud,  "  Miinchen !     Miinchen !  " 

Then  he  knew  enough  of  geography  to  know 
that  he  was  in  the  heart  of  Bavaria.  He  had 
had  an  uncle  killed  in  the  Bayerischenwald  by 
the  Bavarian  forest  guards,  when  in  the  excite- 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  49 

ment  of  hunting  a  black  bear  he  had  over- 
passed the  hmits  of  the  Tyrol  frontier. 

That  fate  of  his  kinsman,  a  gallant  young 
chamois-hunter  who  had  taught  him  to  handle 
a  trigger  and  load  a  muzzle,  made  the  very 
name  of  Bavaria  a  terror  to  August. 

"  It  is  Bavaria !  It  is  Bavaria !  "  he  sobbed 
to  the  stove ;  but  the  stove  said  nothing  to  him ; 
it  had  no  fire  in  it.  A  stove  can  no  more 
speak  without  fire  than  a  man  can  see  without 
light.  Give  it  fire,  and  it  will  sing  to  you, 
tell  tales  to  you,  offer  you  in  return  all  the 
sympathy  you  ask. 

"  It  is  Bavaria !  "  sobbed  August ;  for  it  is 
always  a  name  of  dread  augury  to  the  Tyro- 
leans, by  reason  of  those  bitter  struggles  and 
midnight  shots  and  untimely  deaths  which 
come  from  those  meetings  of  jager  and  hun- 
ter in  the  Bayerischenwald.  But  the  train 
stopped;  Munich  was  reached,  and  August, 
hot  and  cold  by  turns,  and  shaking  like  a  little 
aspen-leaf,  felt  himself  once  more  carried  out 
on  the  shoulders  of  men,  rolled  along  on  a 
truck,  and  finally  set  down,  where  he  knew  not, 
only  he  knew  he  was  thirsty, — so  thirsty!  If 
only  he  could  have  reached  his  hand  out  and 
scooped  up  a  little  snow! 

He  thought  he  had  been  moved  on  this  trucK 
many  miles,  but  in  truth  the  stove  had  been 


50  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

only  taken  from  the  railway  station  to  a  shop 
in  the  Marienplatz.  Fortunately,  the  stove 
was  always  set  upright  on  its  four  gilded  feet, 
an  injunction  to  that  effect  having  been  af- 
fixed to  its  written  label,  and  on  its  gilded  feet 
it  stood  now  in  the  small,  dark  curiosity-shop 
of  one  Hans  Rhilfer. 

"  I  shall  not  unpack  it  till  Anton  comes," 
he  heard  a  man's  voice  say ;  and  then  he  heard 
a  key  grate  in  a  lock,  and  by  the  unbroken 
stillness  that  ensued  he  concluded  he  was  alone, 
and  ventured  to  peep  through  the  straw  and 
hay.  What  he  saw  was  a  small  square  room 
filled  with  pots  and  pans,  pictures,  carvings, 
old  blue  jugs,  old  steel  armour,  shields,  dag- 
gers, Chinese  idols,  Vienna  china,  Turkish 
rugs,  and  all  the  art  lumber  and  fabricated 
rubbish  of  a  hric-a-hrac  dealer's.  It  seemed  a 
wonderful  place  to  him ;  but,  oh !  was  there  one 
drop  of  water  in  it  all?  That  was  his  single 
thought ;  for  his  tongue  was  parching,  and  his 
throat  felt  on  fire,  and  his  chest  began  to  be 
dry  and  choked  as  with  dust.  There  was  not 
a  drop  of  water,  but  there  was  a  lattice  window 
grated,  and  beyond  the  window  was  a  wide 
stone  ledge  covered  with  snow.  August  cast 
one  look  at  the  locked  door,  darted  out  of  his 
hiding  place,  ran  and  opened  the  window, 
crammed  the  snow  into  his  mouth  again  and 


THE    NURNBERG    STOVE  51 

again,  and  then  flew  back  into  the  stove,  drew 
the  hay  and  straw  over  the  place  he  entered 
by,  tied  the  cords,  and  shut  the  brass  door 
down  on  himself.  He  had  brought  some  big 
icicles  in  with  him,  and  by  them  his  thirst  was 
finally,  if  only  temporarily,  quenched.  Then 
he  sat  still  in  the  bottom  of  the  stove,  listen- 
ing intently,  wide  awake,  and  once  more  re- 
covering his  natural  boldness. 

The  thought  of  Dorothea  kept  nipping  his 
heart  and  his  conscience  with  a  hard  squeeze 
now  and  then ;  but  he  thought  to  himself,  "  If 
I  can  take  her  back  Hirschvogel,  then  how 
pleased  she  will  be,  and  how  little  'Gilda  will 
clap  her  hands !  "  He  was  not  at  all  selfish  in 
his  love  for  Hirschvogel :  he  wanted  it  for 
them  all  at  home  quite  as  much  as  for  himself. 
There  was  at  the  bottom  of  his  mind  a  kind  of 
ache  of  shame  that  his  father — his  own  father 
— should  have  stripped  their  hearth  and  sold 
their  honour  thus. 

A  robin  had  been  perched  upon  a  stone 
griffin  sculptured  on  a  house-eave  near.  Au- 
gust had  felt  for  the  crumbs  of  his  loaf  in  his 
pocket,  and  had  thrown  them  to  the  little  bird 
sitting  so  easily  on  the  frozen  snow. 

In  the  darkness  where  he  was  he  now  heard 
a  little  song,  made  faint  by  the  stove-wall  and 
the  window-glass  that  was  between  him  and  it, 


52  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

but  still  distinct  and  exquisitely  sweet.  It  was 
the  robin,  singing  after  feeding  on  the  crumbs. 
August,  as  he  heard,  burst  into  tears.  He 
thought  of  Dorothea,  who  every  morning  threw 
out  some  grain  or  some  bread  on  the  snow 
before  the  church.  "  What  use  is  it  going 
there,"  she  said,  "  if  we  forget  the  sweetest 
creatures  God  has  made?"  Poor  Dorothea! 
Poor,  good,  tender,  much-burdened  little  soul! 
He  thought  of  her  till  his  tears  ran  like  rain. 

Yet  it  never  once  occurred  to  him  to  dream 
of  going  home.    Hirschvogel  was  here. 

Presently  the  key  turned  in  the  lock  of  the 
door,  he  heard  heavy  footsteps  and  the  voice 
of  the  man  who  had  said  to  his  father,  "  You 
have  a  little  mad  dog ;  muzzle  him !  "  The 
voice  said,  "  Ay,  ay,  you  have  called  me  a  fool 
many  times.  Now  you  shall  see  what  I  have 
gotten  for  two  hundred  dirty  florins.  Potztau- 
send!  never  did  you  do  such  a  stroke  of  work." 

Then  the  other  voice  grumbled  and  swore, 
and  the  steps  of  the  two  men  approached  more 
closely,  and  the  heart  of  the  child  went  pit-a- 
pat,  pit-a-pat,  as  a  mouse's  does  when  it  is  on 
the  top  of  a  cheese  and  hears  a  housemaid's 
broom  sweeping  near.  They  began  to  strip 
the  stove  of  its  wrappings:  that  he  could  tell 
by  the  noise  they  made  with  the  hay  and  the 
straw.    Soon  they  had  stripped  it  wholly :  that. 


THE   NURNBERG    STOVE  53 

too,  he  knew  by  the  oaths  and  exclamations  of 
wonder  and  surprise  and  rapture  which  broke 
from  the  man  who  had  not  seen  it  before. 

"A  right  royal  thing!  A  wonderful  and 
never-to-be-rivalled  thing!  Grander  than  the 
great  stove  of  Hohen-Salzburg !  Sublime! 
magnificent !  matchless !  " 

So  the  epithets  ran  on  in  thick  guttural 
voices,  diffusing  a  smell  of  lager-beer  so  strong 
as  they  spoke  that  it  reached  August  crouching 
in  his  stronghold.  If  they  should  open  the 
door  of  the  stove !  That  was  his  frantic  fear. 
If  they  should  open  it,  it  would  be  all  ovei; 
with  him.  They  would  drag  him  out;  most 
likely  they  would  kill  him,  he  thought,  as  his 
mother's  young  brother  had  been  killed  in  the 
Wald. 

The  perspiration  rolled  off  his  forehead  in 
his  agony;  but  he  had  control  enough  over 
himself  to  keep  quiet,  and  after  standing  by 
the  Niirnberg  master's  work  for  nigh  an  hour, 
praising,  marvelling,  expatiating  in  the  lengthy 
German  tongue,  the  men  moved  to  a  little  dis- 
tance and  began  talking  of  sums  of  money  and 
divided  profits,  of  which  discourse  he  could 
make  out  no  meaning.  All  he  could  make  out 
was  that  the  name  of  the  king — the  king — the 
king  came  over  very  often  in  their  arguments. 
He  fancied  at  times  they  quarrelled,  for  they 


54  THE   NiJRNBERG    STOVE 

swore  lustily  and  their  voices  rose  hoarse  and 
high ;  but  after  a  while  they  seemed  to  pacify 
each  other  and  agree  to  something,  and  were 
in  great  glee,  and  so  in  these  merry  spirits 
came  and  slapped  the  luminous  sides  of  stately 
Hirschvogel,  and  shouted  to  it: 

"  Old  Mumchance,  you  have  brought  us  rare 
good  luck!  To  think  you  were  smoking  in  a 
silly  fool  of  a  salt-baker's  kitchen  all  these 
years!  " 

Then  inside  the  stove  August  jumped  up, 
with  flaming  cheeks  and  clinching  hands,  and 
was  almost  on  the  point  of  shouting  out  to 
them  that  they  were  the  thieves  and  should  say 
no  evil  of  his  father,  when  he  remembered, 
jusl  in  time,  that  to  breathe  a  word  or  make 
a  sound  was  to  bring  ruin  on  himself  and  sever 
him  forever  from  Hirschvogel.  So  he  kept 
quite  still,  and  the  men  barred  the  shutters 
of  the  little  lattice  and  went  out  by  the  door, 
double-locking  it  after  them.  He  had  made 
out  from  their  talk  that  they  were  going  to 
show  Hirschvogel  to  some  great  person :  there- 
fore he  kept  quite  still  and  dared  not  move. 

Muffled  sounds  came  to  him  through  the 
shutters  from  the  streets  below, — the  rolling 
of  wheels,  the  clanging  of  church  bells,  and 
bursts  of  that  military  music  which  is  so  sel- 
dom silent  in  the  streets  of  Munich.    An  hour 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  55 

perhaps  passed  by;  sounds  of  steps  on  the 
stairs  kept  him  in  perpetual  apprehension.  In 
the  intensity  of  his  anxiety,  he  forgot  that  he 
was  hungry  and  many  miles  away  from  cheer- 
ful, Old-World  little  Hall,  lying  by  the  clear, 
grey  river  water,  with  the  ramparts  of  the 
mountains  all  around. 

Presently  the  door  opened  again  sharply. 
He  could  hear  the  two  dealers'  voices  murmur- 
ing unctuous  words,  in  which  "  honour,'' 
"  gratitude,"  and  many  fine  long  noble  titles 
played  the  chief  parts.  The  voice  of  another 
person,  more  clear  and  refined  than  theirs,  an- 
swered them  curtly,  and  then,  close  by  the 
Niirnberg  stove  and  the  boy's  ear,  ejaculated 
a  single  "  Wunderschon! "  August  almost  lost 
his  terror  for  himself  in  his  thrill  of  pride  at 
his  beloved  Hirschvogel  being  thus  admired 
in  the  great  city.  He  thought  the  master- 
potter  must  be  glad,  too. 

"  Wunderschon! "  ejaculated  the  stranger  a 
second  time,  and  then  examined  the  stove  in 
all  its  parts,  read  all  its  mottoes,  gazed  long  on 
all  its  devices. 

*'  It  must  have  been  made  for  the  Emperor 
Maximilian,"  he  said  at  last ;  and  the  poor  little 
boy,  meanwhile,  within,  was  "  hugged  up  into 
nothing,"  as  you  children  say,  dreading  that 
every  moment  he  would  open  the  stove.     And 


56  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

open  it  truly  he  did,  and  examined  the  brass- 
work  of  the  door;  but  inside  it  was  so  dark 
that  crouching  August  passed  unnoticed, 
screwed  up  into  a  ball  like  a  hedgehog  as  he 
was.  The  gentleman  shut  to  the  door  at 
length,  without  having  seen  anything  strange 
inside  it ;  and  then  he  talked  long  and  low  with 
the  tradesmen,  and,  as  his  accent  was  different 
from  that  which  August  was  used  to,  the  child 
could  distinguish  little  that  he  said,  except  the 
name  of  the  king  and  the  word  "gulden-" 
again  and  again.  After  a  while  he  went  away, 
one  of  the  dealers  accompanying  him,  one  of 
them  lingering  behind  to  bar  up  the  shutters. 
Then  this  one  also  withdrew  again,  double- 
locking  the  door. 

The  poor  little  hedgehog  uncurled  itself  and 
dared  to  breathe  aloud. 

What  time  was  it? 

Late  in  the  day,  he  thought,  for  to  accom- 
pany the  stranger  they  had  lighted  a  lamp ;  he 
had  heard  the  scratch  of  the  match,  and 
through  the  brass  fret-work  had  seen  the  lines 
of  light. 

He  would  have  to  pass  the  night  here,  that 
was  certain.  He  and  Hirschvogel  were  locked 
in,  but  at  least  they  were  together,  li  only 
he  could  have  had  something  to  eat!  He 
thought  with  a  pang  of  how  at  this  hour  at 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE      -      57 

home  they  ate  the  sweet  soup,  sometimes  with 
apples  in  it  from  Aunt  Maila's  farm  orchard, 
and  sang  together,  and  hstened  to  Dorothea's 
reading  of  Httle  tales,  and  basked  in  the  glow 
and  delight  that  had  beamed  on  them  from  the 
great  Niirnberg  fire-king. 

"  Oh,  poor,  poor  little  'Gilda !  What  is  she 
doing  without  the  dear  Hirschvogel? "  he 
thought.  Poor  little  'Gilda !  she  had  only  now 
the  black  iron  stove  of  the  ugly  little  kitchen. 
Oh,  how  cruel  of  father! 

August  could  not  bear  to  hear  the  dealers 
blame  or  laugh  at  his  father,  but  he  did  feel 
that  it  had  been  so,  so  cruel  to  sell  Hirschvogel, 
The  mere  memory  of  all  those  long  winter 
evenings,  when  they  had  all  closed  round  it, 
and  roasted  chestnuts  or  crab-apples  in  it,  and 
listened  to  the  howling  of  the  wind  and  the 
deep  sound  of  the  church-bells,  and  tried  very 
much  to  make  each  other  believe  that  the 
wolves  still  came  down  from  the  mountains 
into  the  streets  of  Hall,  and  were  that  very 
minute  growling  at  the  house  door, — all  this 
memory  coming  on  him  with  the  sound  of  the 
city  bells,  and  the  knowledge  that  night  drew 
near  upon  him  so  completely,  being  added  to 
his  hunger  and  his  fear,  so  overcame  him  that 
he  burst  out  crying  for  the  fiftieth  time  since 
he  had  been  inside  the  stove,  and  felt  that  he 


58  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

would  starve  to  death,  and  wondered  dreamily 
if  Hirschvogel  would  care.  Yes,  he  was  sure 
Hirschvogel  would  care.  Had  he  not  decked 
it  all  summer  long  with  alpine  roses  and  edel- 
weiss and  heaths  and  made  it  sweet  with 
thyme  and  honeysuckle  and  great  garden-lilies  ? 
Had  he  ever  forgotten  when  Santa  Claus  came 
to  make  it  its  crown  of  holly  and  ivy  and 
wreathe  it  all  around? 

"  Oh,  shelter  me ;  save  me ;  take  care  of 
me !  "  he  prayed  to  the  old  fire-king,  and  for- 
got, poor  little  man,  that  he  had  come  on  this 
wild-goose  chase  northward  to  save  and  take 
care  of  Hirschvogel ! 

After  a  time  he  dropped  asleep,  as  children 
can  do  when  they  weep,  and  little  robust  hill- 
born  boys  most  surely  do,  be  they  where  they 
may.  It  was  not  very  cold  in  this  lumber- 
room  ;  it  was  tightly  shut  up,  and  very  full  of 
things,  and  at  the  back  of  it  were  the  hot  pipes 
of  an  adjacent  house,  where  a  great  deal  of 
fuel  was  burnt.  Moreover,  August's  clothes 
were  warm  ones,  and  his  blood  was  young. 
So  he  was  not  cold,  though  Munich  is  terribly 
cold  in  the  nights  of  December;  and  he  slept 
on  and  on, — which  was  a  comfort  to  him,  for 
he  forgot  his  woes,  and  his  perils,  and  his  hun- 
ger, for  a  time. 

Midnight  was  once  more  chiming  from  all 


THE    NURNBERG    STOVE  59 

the  brazen  tongues  of  the  city  when  he  awoke, 
and,  all  being  still  around  him,  ventured  to 
put  his  head  out  of  the  brass  door  of  the  stove 
to  see  why  such  a  strange  bright  light  was 
round  him. 

It  was  a  very  strange  and  brilliant  light  in- 
deed; and  yet,  what  is  perhaps  still  stranger, 
it  did  not  frighten  or  amaze  him,  nor  did  what 
he  saw  alarm  him  either,  and  yet  I  think  it 
would  have  alarmed  you  or  me.  For  what  he 
saw  was  nothing  less  than  all  the  bric-a-brac 
in  motion. 

A  big  jug,  an  Apostel-Krug,  of  Kruessen, 
was  solemnly  dancing  a  minuet  with  a  plump 
Faenza  jar;  a  tall  Dutch  clock  was  going 
through  a  gavotte  with  a  spindle-legged  an- 
cient chair;  a  very  droll  porcelain  figure  of 
Littenhausen  was  bowing  to  a  very^  stiff  sol- 
dier in  terre  cuite  of  Ulm ;  an  old  violin  of 
Cremona  was  playing  itself,  and  a  queer  little 
shrill  plaintive  music  that  thought  itself  merry 
came  from  a  painted  spinnet  covered  with 
faded  roses ;  some  gilt  Spanish  leather  had  got 
up  on  the  wall  and  laughed ;  a  Dresden  mirror 
was  tripping  about,  crowned  with  flowers,  and 
a  Japanese  bronze  was  riding  along  on  a  grif- 
fin; a  slim  Venetian  rapier  had  come  to  blows 
with  a  stout  Ferrara  sabre,  all  about  a  little 
pale-faced  chit  of  a  damsel  in  whie  Nymphen- 


6o  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

burg  china;  and  a  portly  Franconian  pitcher 
in  gres  gris  was  calHng  aloud,  "  Oh,  these  Ital- 
ians !  always  at  feud !  "  But  nobody  listened 
to  him  at  all.  A  great  number  of  little  Dres- 
den cups  and*  saucers  were  all  skipping  and 
waltzing;  the  teapots,  with  their  broad  round 
faces,  were  spinning  their  own  lids  like  tee- 
totums; the  high-backed  gilded  chairs  were 
having  a  game  of  cards  together;  and  a  little 
Saxe  poodle,  with  a  blue  ribbon  at  its  throat, 
was  running  from  one  to  another,  whilst  a 
yellow  cat  of  Cornells  Lachtleven's  rode  about 
on  a  delf  horse  in  blue  pottery  of  1489. 
Meanwhile  the  brilliant  light  shed  on  the 
scene  came  from  three  silver  candelabra,  though 
they  had  no  candles  set  up  in  them ;  and,  what 
is  the  greatest  miracle  of  all,  August  looked  on 
at  these  mad  freaks  and  felt  no  sensation  of 
wonder !  He  only,  as  he  heard  the  violin  and 
the  spinnet  playing,  felt  an  irresistible  desire 
to  dance  too. 

No  doubt  his  face  said  what  he  wished ;  for 
a  lovely  little  lady,  all  in  pink  and  gold  and 
white,  with  powdered  hair,  and  high-heeled 
shoes,  and  all  made  of  the  very  finest  and  fair- 
est Meissen  china,  tripped  up  to  him,  and 
smiled,  and  gave  him  her  hand,  and  led  him 
out  to  a  minuet.  And  he  danced  it  perfectly, 
— poor  little  August  in  his  thick,  clumsy  shoes, 


THE    NURNBERG   STOVE  6i 

and  his  thick,  clumsy  sheepskin  jacket,  and  his 
rough  homespun  Hnen,  and  his  broad  Tyrolean 
hat!  He  must  have  danced  it  perfectly,  this 
dance  of  kings  and  queens  in  days  when 
crowns  were  duly  honoured,  for  the  lovely  lady 
always  smiled  benignly  and  never  scolded  him 
at  all,  and  danced  so  divinely  herself  to  the 
stately  measures  the  spinnet  was  playing  that 
August  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  her  till, 
their  minuet  ended,  she  sat  down  on  her  own 
white-and-gold  bracket. 

"  I  am  the  Princess  of  Saxe-Royale,"  she 
said  to  him,  with  a  benignant  smile ;  "  and  you 
have  got  through  that  minuet  very  fairly." 

Then  he  ventured  to  say  to  her: 

"  Madame  my  princess,  could  you  tell  me 
kindly  why  some  of  the  figures  and  furniture 
dance  and  speak,  and  some  lie  up  in  a  corner 
like  lumber?  It  does  make  me  curious.  Is 
it  rude  to  ask?  " 

For  it  greatly  puzzled  him  why,  when  some 
of  the  bric-a-brac  was  all  full  of  life  and  mo- 
tion, some  was  quite  still  and  had  not  a  single 
thrill  in  it. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  the  powdered  lady, 
'*  is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  know  the  rea- 
son? Why,  those  silent,  dull  things  are  imita- 
tion! " 

This  she  said  with  so  much  decision  that  she 


62  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

evidently  considered  it  a  condensed  but  com- 
plete answer. 

"  Imitation?  "  repeated  August,  timidly,  not 
understanding. 

"  Of  course !  Lies,  falsehoods,  fabrica- 
tions !  "  said  the  princess  in  pink  shoes,  very 
vivaciously.  "  They  only  pretend  to  be  what 
we  are!  They  never  wake  up:  how  can  they? 
No  imitation  ever  had  any  soul  in  it  yet." 

"  Oh !  "  said  August,  humbly,  not  even  sure 
that  he  understood  entirely  yet.  He  looked 
at  Hirschvogel :  surely  it  had  a  royal  soul 
within  it :  would  it  not  wake  up  and  speak  ?  Oh 
dear!  how  he  longed  to  hear  the  voice  of  his 
fire-king!  And  he  began  to  forget  that  he 
stood  by  a  lady  who  sat  upon  a  pedestal  of 
gold-and-white  china,  with  the  year  1746  cut 
on  it,  and  the  Meissen  mark. 

"  What  will  you  be  when  you  are  a  man  ?  " 
said  the  little  lady,  sharply,  for  her  black  eyes 
were  quick  though  her  red  lips  were  smiling. 
*'  Will  you  work  for  the  Konigliche  Porcellan- 
Manufactur,  like  my  great  dead  Kandler?" 

*'  I  have  never  thought,"  said  August,  stam- 
mering; "at  least — that  is — I  do  wish — I  do 
hope  to  be  a  painter,  as  was  Master  Augustin 
Hirschvogel  at  Niirnberg." 

"  Bravo !  "  said  all  the  real  bric-a-brac  in  one 
breath,  and  the  two  Italian    rapiers    left    off 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  63 

fighting  to  cry  "  Benone!"  For  there  is  not  a 
bit  of  true  bric-d-brac  in  all  Europe  that  does 
not  know  the  names  of  the  mighty  masters. 

August  felt  quite  pleased  to  have  won  so 
much  applause,  and  grew  as  red  as  the  lady's 
shoes  with  bashful  contentment. 

"  I  knew  all  the  Hirschvogel,  from  old  Veit 
downwards,"  said  a  fat  gres  de  Flandre  beer- 
jug  :  "  I  myself  was  made  at  Nurnberg."  And 
he  bowed  to  the  great  stove  very  politely,  tak- 
ing off  his  own  silver  hat — I  mean  lid — with  a 
courtly  sweep  that  he  could  scarcely  have 
learned  from  the  burgomasters.  The  stove, 
however,  was  silent,  and  a  sickening  suspicion 
(for  what  is  such  heart-break  as  a  suspicion  of 
what  we  love?)  came  through  the  mind  of 
August:     Was  Hirschvogel  only  imitation? 

"No,  no,  no,  no!"  he  said  to  himself, 
stoutly:  though  Hirschvogel  never  stirred, 
never  spoke,  yet  would  he  keep  all  faith 
in  it!  After  all  their  happy  years  together, 
after  all  the  nights  of  warmth  and  joy  he 
owed  it,  should  he  doubt  his  own  friend  and 
hero,  whose  gilt  lion's  feet  he  had  kissed  in 
his  babyhood  ?  "  No,  no,  no,  no !  "  he  said, 
again,  with  so  much  emphasis  that  the  Lady 
of  Meissen  looked  sharply  again  at  him. 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  pretty  disdain ;  "  no, 
believe  me,  they  may  '  pretend  '  forever.  They 


64  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

can  never  look  like  us !  They  imitate  even  our 
marks,  but  never  can  they  look  like  the  real 
thing,  never  can  they  chassent  de  race." 

"How  should  they?"  said  a  bronze  statu- 
ette of  Vischer's.  "  They  daub  themselves 
green  with  verdigris,  or  sit  out  in  the  rain  to 
get  rusted;  but  green  and  rust  are  not  patina; 
only  the  ages  can  give  that !  " 

"  And  my  imitations  are  all  in  primary  col- 
ours, staring  colours,  hot  as  the  colours  of  a 
hostelry's  sign-board!"  said  the  Lady  of 
Meissen,  with  a  shiver. 

"  Well,  there  is  a  gres  de  Flandre  over  there, 
who  pretends  to  be  a  Hans  Kraut,  as  I  am," 
said  the  jug  with  the  silver  hat,  pointing  with 
his  handle  to  a  jug  that  lay  prone  on  its  side  in 
a  corner.  "  He  has  copied  me  as  exactly  as  it  is 
given  to  moderns  to  copy  us.  Almost  he  might 
be  mistaken  for  me.  But  yet  what  a  difference 
there  is !  How  crude  are  his  blues !  how  evi- 
dently done  over  the  glaze  are  his  black  letters ! 
He  has  tried  to  give  himself  my  very  twists; 
but  what  a  lamentable  exaggeration  of  that 
playful  deviation  in  my  lines  which  in  his  be- 
comes actual  deformity !  " 

"  And  look  at  that,"  said  the  gilt  Cordovan 
leather,  with  a  contemptuous  glance  at  a  broad 
piece  of  gilded  ieather  spread  out  on  a  table. 
"  They  will  sell  him  cheek  by  jowl  with  me. 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  65 

and  give  him  my  name ;  but  look !  /  am  over- 
laid with  pure  gold  beaten  thin  as  a  film  and 
laid  on  me  in  absolute  honesty  by  worthy  Diego 
de  las  Gorgias,  worker  in  leather  of  lovely 
Cordova  in  the  blessed  reign  of  Ferdinand  the 
Most  Christian.  His  gilding  is  one  part  gold 
to  eleven  other  parts  of  brass  and  rubbish,  and 
it  has  been  laid  on  him  with  a  brush — a  brush! 
— pah !  of  course  he  will  be  as  black  as  a  crock 
in  a  few  years'  time,  whilst  I  am  as  bright  as 
when  I  first  was  made,  and,  unless  I  am  burnt 
as  my  Cordova  burnt  its  heretics,  I  shall  shine 
on  forever." 

"  They  carve  pear-wood  because  it  is  so  soft, 
and  dye  it  brown,  and  call  it  me! "  said  an  old 
oak  cabinet,  with  a  chuckle. 

"  That  is  not  so  painful ;  it  does  not  vulgar- 
ise you  so  much  as  the  cups  they  paint  to-day 
and  christen  after  me! "  said  a  Carl  Theodor 
cup  subdued  in  hue,  yet  gorgeous  as  a  jewel. 

"  Nothing  can  be  so  annoying  as  to  see  com- 
mon gimcracks  aping  me! "  interposed  the 
princess  in  the  pink  shoes. 

"  They  even  steal  my  motto,  though  it  is 
Scripture,"  said  a  Trauerkrug  of  Regensburg 
in  black-and-white. 

"  And  my  own  dots  they  put  on  plain  Eng- 
lish china  creatures !  "  sighed  the  little  white 
maid  of  Nymphenburg. 


66  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

"  And  they  sell  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
common  china  plates,  calling  them  after  me, 
and  baking  my  saints  and  my  legends  in  a 
muffle  of  to-day ;  it  is  blasphemy !  "  said  a 
stout  plate  of  Gubbio,  which  in  its  year  of 
birth  had  seen  the  face  of  Maestro  Giorgio. 

"  That  is  what  is  so  terrible  in  these  bric-a- 
brac  places,"  said  the  princess  of  Meissen.  "  It 
brings  one  in  contact  with  such  low,  imitative 
creatures ;  one  really  is  safe  nowhere  nowadays 
unless  under  glass  at  the  Louvre  or  South 
Kensington." 

"  And  they  get  even  there,"  sighed  the 
gres  de  Flandre.  "  A  terrible  thing  happened 
to  a  dear  friend  of  mine,  a  terre  cuite  of  Bla- 
sius  (you  know  the  terres  cuites  of  Blasius  date 
from  1560).  Well,  he  was  put  under  glass  in 
a  museum  that  shall  be  nameless,  and  he  found 
himself  set  next  to  his  own  imitation  born  and 
baked  yesterday  at  Frankfort,  and  what  think 
you  the  miserable  creature  said  to  him,  with  a 
grin  ?  '  Old  Pipe-clay,' — that  is  what  he  called 
my  friend, — '  the  fellow  that  bought  me  got 
just  as  much  commission  on  me  as  the  fellow 
that  bought  you,  and  that  was  all  that  he 
thought  about.  You  know  it  is  only  the  public 
money  that  goes ! '  And  the  horrid  creature 
grinned  again  till  he  actually  cracked  himself. 


THE    NURNBERG   STOVE  (^7 

There  is  a  Providence  above  all  things,  even 


museums." 


"  Providence  might  have  interfered  before, 
and  saved  the  public  money,"  said  the  little 
Meissen  lady  with  the  pink  shoes. 

"After  all,  does  it  matter?"  said  a  Dutch 
jar  of  Haarlem.  "  All  the  shamming  in  the 
world  will  not  make  them  us !  " 

"  One  does  not  like  to  be  vulgarised,"  said 
the  Lady  of  Meissen,  angrily. 

"  My  maker,  the  Krabbetje,*  did  not  trouble 
his  head  about  that,"  said  the  Haarlem  jar, 
proudly.  "  The  Krabbetje  made  me  for  the 
kitchen,  the  bright,  clean,  snow-white  Dutch 
kitchen,  well-nigh  three  centuries  ago,  and  now 
I  am  thought  worthy  the  palace;  yet  I  wish  I 
were  at  home ;  yes,  I  wish  I  could  see  the  good 
Dutch  vrouw,  and  the  shining  canals,  and  the 
great  green  meadows  dotted  with  the  kine." 

"  Ah !  if  we  could  all  go  back  to  our  mak- 
ers!" sighed  the  Gubbio  plate,  thinking  of 
Giorgio  Andreoli  and  the  glad  and  gracious 
days  of  the  Renaissance :  and  somehow  the 
words  touched  the  frolicsome  souls  of  the  danc- 
ing jars,  the  spinning  teapots,  the  chairs  that 
were  playing  cards ;  and  the  violin  stopped  its 

*Jan  Asselyn,  called  Krabbetje,  the  Little  Crab,  born 
i6ro,  master-potter  of  Delft  and  Haarlem, 


58  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

merry  music  with  a  sob,  and  the  spinnet 
sighed, — thinking  of  dead  hands. 

Even  the  httle  Saxe  poodle  howled  for  a 
master  forever  lost;  and  only  the  swords  went 
on  quarrelling,  and  made  such  a  clattering 
noise  that  the  Japanese  bronze  rode  at  them  on 
his  monster  and  knocked  them  both  right  over, 
and  they  lay  straight  and  still,  looking  foolish, 
and  the  little  Nymphenburg  maid,  though  she 
was  crying,  smiled  and  almost  laughed. 

Then  from  where  the  great  stove  stood  there 
came  a  solemn  voice. 

All  eyes  turned  upon  Hirschvogel,  and  the 
heart  of  its  little  human  comrade  gave  a  great 
jump  for  joy. 

"  My  friends,"  said  that  clear  voice  from  the 
turret  of  Niirnberg  faience,  "  I  have  listened 
to  all  you  have  said.  There  is  too  much  talking 
among  the  Mortalities  whom  one  of  themselves 
has  called  the  Windbags.  Let  us  not  be  like 
them,  I  hear  among  men  so  much  vain  speech, 
so  much  precious  breath  and  precious  time 
wasted  in  empty  boasts,  foolish  anger,  useless 
reiteration,  blatant  argument,  ignoble  mouth- 
ings,  that  I  have  learned  to  deem  speech  a  curse, 
laid  on  man  to  weaken  and  envenom  all  his 
undertakings.  For  over  two  hundred  years  I 
have  never  spoken  myself:  you,  I  hear,  are  not 
so  reticent.     I  only  speak  now  because  one  of 


THE   NURNBERG    STOVE  69 

you  said  a  beautiful  thing  that  touched  me.  If 
we  all  might  but  go  back  to  our  makers !  Ah, 
yes !  if  we  might !  We  were  made  in  days 
when  even  men  were  true  creatures,  and  so  we, 
the  work  of  their  hands,  were  true  too.  We, 
the  begotten  of  ancient  days,  derive  all  the 
value  in  us  from  the  fact  that  our  makers 
wrought  at  us  with  zeal,  with  piety,  with  in- 
tegrity, with  faith, — not  to  win  fortunes  or  to 
glut  a  market,  but  to  do  nobly  an  honest  thing 
and  create  for  the  honour  of  the  Arts  and  God. 
I  see  amidst  you  a  little  human  thing  who  loves 
me,  and  in  his  own  ignorant  childish  way  loves 
Art.  Now,  I  want  him  forever  to  remember 
this  night  and  these  words ;  to  remember  that 
we  are  what  we  are,  and  precious  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world,  because  centuries  ago  those  who 
were  of  single  mind  and  of  pure  hand  so  cre- 
ated us,  scorning  sham  and  haste  and  counter- 
feit. Well  do  I  recollect  my  master,  Augustin 
Hirschvogel.  He  led  a  wise  and  blameless  life, 
and  wrought  in  loyalty  and  love,  and  made  his 
time  beautiful  thereby,  like  one  of  his  own 
rich,  many-coloured  church  casements,  that  told 
holy  tales  as  the  sun  streamed  through  them. 
Ah,  yes,  my  friends,  to  go  back  to  our  masters ! 
— that  would  be  the  best  that  could  befall  us. 
But  they  are  gone,  and  even  the  perishable  la- 
bours of  their  lives  outlive  them.     For  many. 


70  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

many  years  I,  once  honoured  of  emperors, 
dwelt  in  a  humble  house  and  warmed  in  suc- 
cessive winters  three  generations  of  little,  cold, 
hungry  children.  When  I  warmed  them  they 
forgot  that  they  were  hungry;  they  laughed 
and  told  tales,  and  slept  at  last  about  my  feet. 
Then  I  knew  that  humble  as  had  become  my 
lot  it  was  one  that  my  master  would  have 
wished  for  me,  and  I  was  content.  Sometimes 
a  tired  woman  would  creep  up  to  me,  and  smile 
because  she  was  near  me,  and  point  out  my 
golden  crown  or  my  ruddy  fruit  to  a  baby  in 
her  arms.  That  was  better  than  to  stand  in  a 
great  hall  of  a  great  city,  cold  and  empty,  even 
though  wise  men  came  to  gaze  and  throngs 
of  fools  gaped,  passing  with  flattering  words. 
Where  I  go  now  I  know  not;  but  since  I  go 
from  that  humble  house  where  they  loved  me, 
I  shall  be  sad  and  alone.  They  pass  so  soon, — 
those  fleeting  mortal  lives!  Only  we  endure, 
— we,  the  things  that  the  human  brain  creates. 
We  can  but  bless  them  a  little  as  they  glide  by ; 
if  we  have  done  that,  we  have  done  what  our 
masters  wished.  So  in  us  our  masters,  being 
dead,  yet  may  speak  and  live." 

Then  the  voice  sunk  away  in  silence,  and  a 
strange  golden  light  that  had  shone  on  the 
great  stove  faded  away;  so  also  the  light  died 
down  in  the  silver  candelabra.    A  soft,  pathetic 


THE   NURNBERG    STOVE  ^l 

melody  stole  gently  through  the  room.  It 
came  from  the  old  spinnet  that  was  covered 
with  faded  roses. 

Then  that  sad,  sighing  music  of  a  bygone 
day  died  too ;  the  clocks  of  the  city  struck  six 
of  the  morning ;  day  was  rising  over  the  Bayer- 
ischenwald.  August  awoke  with  a  great  start, 
and  found  himself  lying  on  the  bare  bricks  of 
the  floor  of  the  chamber,  and  all  the  bric-a-brac 
was  lying  quite  still  all  around.  The  pretty 
Lady  of  Meissen  was  motionless  on  her  porce- 
lain bracket,  and  the  little  Saxe  poodle  was 
quiet  at  her  side. 

He  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  He  was  very 
cold,  but  he  was  not  sensible  of  it  or  of  the 
hunger  that  was  gnawing  his  little  empty  en- 
trails. He  was  absorbed  in  the  wondrous  sight, 
in  the  wondrous  sounds,  that  he  had  seen  and 
heard. 

All  was  dark  about  him.  Was  it  still  mid- 
night or  had  morning  come  ?  Morning,  surely ; 
for  against  the  barred  shutters  he  heard  the 
tiny  song  of  the  robin. 

Tramp,  tramp,  too,  came  a  heavy  step  up 
the  stair.  He  had  but  a  moment  in  which  to 
scramble  back  into  the  interior  of  the  great 
stove,  when  the  door  opened  and  the  two  deal- 
ers entered,  bringing  burning  candles  with 
them  to  see  their  way. 


T2  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

August  was  scarcely  conscious  of  danger 
more  than  he  was  of  cold  or  hunger.  A  mar- 
vellous sense  of  courage,  of  security,  of  happi- 
ness, was  about  him,  like  strong  and  gentle 
arms  enfolding  him  and  lifting  him  upwards 
— upwards — upwards !  Hirschvogel  would  de- 
fend him. 

The  dealers  undid  the  shutters,  scaring  the 
red-breast  away,  and  then  tramped  about  in 
their  heavy  boots  and  chattered  in  contented 
voices,  and  began  to  wrap  up  the  stove  once 
more  in  all  its  straw  and  hay  and  cordage. 

It  never  once  occurred  to  them  to  glance  in- 
side. Why  should  they  look  inside  a  stove  that 
they  had  bought  and  were  about  to  sell  again 
for  all  its  glorious  beauty  of  exterior? 

The  child  did  not  feel  afraid.  A  great  exal- 
tation had  come  to  him :  he  was  like  one  lifted 
up  by  his  angels. 

Presently  the  two  traders  called  up  their 
porters  and  the  stove,  heedfully  swathed  and 
wrapped  and  tended  as  though  it  were  some 
sick  prince  going  on  a  journey,  was  borne  on 
the  shoulders  of  six  stout  Bavarians  down  the 
stairs  and  out  of  doors  into  the  Marienplatz. 
Even  behind  all  those  wrappings  August  felt 
the  icy  bite  of  the  intense  cold  of  the  outer  air 
at  dawn  of  a  winter's  day  in  Munich.  The  men 
moved  the  stove  with  exceeding  gentleness  and 


THE    NURNBERG    STOVE  73 

care,  so  that  he  had  often  been  far  more 
roughly  shaken  in  his  big  brother's  arms  than 
he  was  in  his  journey  now ;  and  though  both 
hunger  and  thirst  made  themselves  felt,  being 
foes  that  will  take  no  denial,  he  was  still  in 
that  state  of  nervous  exaltation  which  deadens 
all  physical  suffering  and  is  at  once  a  cordial 
and  an  opiate.  He  had  heard  Hirschvogel 
speak;  that  was  enough. 

The  stout  carriers  tramped  through  the  city, 
six  of  them,  with  the  Niirnberg  fire-castle  on 
their  brawny  shoulders,  and  went  right  across 
Munich  to  the  railway  station,  and  August  in 
the  dark  recognised  all  the  ugly,  jangling, 
pounding,  roaring,  hissing  railway  noises,  and 
thought,  despite  his  courage  and  excitement, 
"Will  it  be  a  very  long  journey?"  For  his 
stomach  had  at  times  an  odd  sinking  sensation, 
and  his  head  sadly  often  felt  light  and  swim- 
ming. If  it  was  a  very,  very  long  journey  he 
felt  half  afraid  that  he  would  be  dead  or  some- 
thing bad  before  the  end,  and  Hirschvogel 
would  be  so  lonely:  that  was  what  he  thought 
most  about ;  not  much  about  himself,  and  not 
much  about  Dorothea  and  the  house  at  home. 
He  was  "  high  strung  to  high  emprise,"  and 
could  not  look  behind  him. 

Whether  for  a  long  or  a  short  journey, 
whether  for  weal  or  woe,  the  stove  with  Au- 


74  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

gust  still  within  it  was  once  more  hoisted  up 
into  a  great  van;  but  this  time  it  was  not  all 
alone,  and  the  two  dealers  as  well  as  the  six 
porters  were  all  with  it. 

He  in  his  darkness  knew  that;  for  he  heard 
their  voices.  The  train  glided  away  over  the 
Bavarian  plain  southward;  and  he  heard  the 
men  say  something  of  Berg,  and  the  Wurm- 
See,  but  their  German  was  strange  to  him,  and 
he  could  not  make  out  what  these  names  meant. 

The  train  rolled  on,  with  all  its  fume  and 
fuss,  and  roar  of  steam,  and  stench  of  oil  and 
burning  coal.  It  had  to  go  quietly  and  slowly 
on  account  of  the  snow  which  was  falling,  and 
which  had  fallen  all  night. 

"  He  might  have  waited  till  he  came  to  the 
city,"  grumbled  one  man  to  another.  "  What 
weather  to  stay  on  at  Berg !  " 

But  who  he  was  that  stayed  on  at  Berg,  Au- 
gust could  not  make  out  at  all. 

Though  the  men  grumbled  about  the  state 
of  the  roads  and  the  season,  they  were  hilarious 
and  well  content,  for  they  laughed  often,  when 
they  swore,  did  so  good-humoredly,  and  prom- 
ised their  porters  fine  presents  at  New-Year; 
and  August,  like  a  shrewd  little  boy  as  he  was, 
who,  even  in  the  secluded  Inrthal  had  learned 
that  money  is  the  chief  mover  of  men's  mirth, 
thought  to  himself,  with  a  terrible  pang: 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  75 

"  They  have  sold  Hirschvogel  for  some 
great  sum.     They  have  sold  him  already !  " 

Then  his  heart  grew  faint  and  sick  within 
him,  for  he  knew  very  well  that  he  must  soon 
die,  shut  up  without  food  and  water  thus ;  and 
what  new  owner  of  the  great  fire-place  would 
ever  permit  him  to  dwell  in  it  ?  " 

"  Never  mind ;  I  will  die,"  thought  he ;  "  and 
Hirschvogel  will  know  it." 

Perhaps  you  think  him  a  very  foolish  little 
fellow,  but  I  do  not. 

It  is  always  good  to  be  loyal  and  ready  to 
endure  to  the  end. 

It  is  but  an  hour  and  a  quarter  that  the  train 
usually  takes  to  pass  from  Munich  to  the 
Wurm-See  or  Lake  of  Starnberg;  but  this 
morning  the  journey  was  much  slower,  because 
the  way  was  encumbered  by  snow.  When 
it  did  reach  Possenhofen  and  stop,  and  the 
Niirnberg  stove  was  lifted  out  once  more,  Au- 
gust could  see  through  the  fret-work  of  the 
brass  door,  as  the  stove  stood  upright  facing 
the  lake  that  this  Wurm-See  was  a  calm  and 
noble  piece  of  water,  of  great  width,  with  low 
wooded  banks  and  distant  mountains,  a  peace- 
ful, serene  place,  full  of  rest. 

It  was  now  near  ten  o'clock.  The  sun  had 
come  forth ;  there  was  a  clear  grey  sky  here- 
abouts; the  snow  was  not  falling,  though  it 


'j^  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 

lay  white  and  smooth  everywhere,  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  water,  which  before  long  would 
itself  be  ice. 

Before  he  had  time  to  get  more  than  a 
glimpse  of  the  green  gliding  surface,  the  stove 
was  again  lifted  up  and  placed  on  a  large  boat 
that  was  in  waiting, — one  of  those  very  long 
and  huge  boats  which  the  women  in  these  parts 
use  as  laundries,  and  the  men  as  timber-rafts. 
The  stove,  with  much  labour  and  much  ex- 
penditure of  time  and  care,  was  hoisted  into 
this,  and  August  would  have  grown  sick  and 
giddy  with  the  heaving  and  falling  if  his  big 
brothers  had  not  long  used  him  to  such  tossing 
about,  so  that  he  was  as  much  at  ease  head,  as 
feet,  downward.  The  stove  once  in  it  safely 
with  its  guardians,  the  big  boat  moved  across 
the  lake  to  Leoni.  How  a  little  hamlet  on  a  Ba- 
varian lake  got  that  Tuscan-sounding  name  I 
cannot  tell ;  but  Leoni  it  is.  The  big  boat  was 
a  long  time  crossing:  the  lake  here  is  about 
three  miles  broad,  and  these  heavy  barges  are 
unwieldy  and  heavy  to  move,  even  though  they 
are  towed  and  tugged  at  from  the  shore. 

"  If  we  should  be  too  late!  "  the  two  dealers 
muttered  to  each  other,  in  agitation  and  alarm. 
"  He  said  eleven  o'clock," 

"  Who  was  he  ?  "  thought  August ;  "  the 
buyer,  of  course,  of  Hirschvogel."     The  slow 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  TJ 

passage  across  the  Wurm-See  was  accom- 
plished at  length:  the  lake  was  placid;  there 
was  a  sweet  calm  in  the  air  and  on  the  water ; 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  snow  in  the  sky, 
though  the  sun  was  shining  and  gave  a  solemn 
hush  to  the  atmosphere.  Boats  and  one  little 
steamer  were  going  up  and  down ;  in  the  clear 
frosty  light  the  distant  mountains  of  Zillerthal 
and  the  Algau  Alps  were  visible;  market- 
people,  cloaked  and  furred,  went  by  on  the 
water  or  on  the  banks;  the  deep  woods  of  the 
shores  were  black  and  grey  and  brown.  Poor 
August  could  see  nothing  of  a  scene  that  would 
have  delighted  him ;  as  the  stove  was  now  set, 
he  could  only  see  the  old  worm-eaten  wood  of 
the  huge  barge. 

Presently  they  touched  the  pier  at  Leoni. 

"  Now,  men,  for  a  stout  mile  and  half!  You 
shall  drink  your  reward  at  Christmas-time," 
said  one  of  the  dealers  to  his  porters,  who, 
stout,  strong  men  as  they  were,  showed  a  dis- 
position to  grumble  at  their  task.  Encouraged 
by  large  promises,  they  shouldered  sullenly  the 
Niirnberg  stove,  grumbling  again  at  its  pre- 
posterous weight,  but  little  dreaming  that  they 
carried  within  it  a  small,  panting,  trembling 
boy ;  for  August  began  to  tremble  now  that  he 
was  about  to  see  the  future  owner  of  Hirsch- 
vogel. 


78  THE   NURNBERG   STOVE 


ft 


If  he  look  a  good,  kind  man,"  he  thought, 
I  will  beg  him  to  let  me  stay  with  it," 
The  porters  began  their  toilsome  journey, 
and  moved  off  from  the  village  pier.  He  could 
see  nothing,  for  the  brass  door  was  over  his 
head,  and  all  that  gleamed  through  it  was  the 
clear,  grey  sky.  He  had  been  tilted  on  to  his 
back,  and  if  he  had  not  been  a  little  moun- 
taineer, used  to  hanging  head-downwards  over 
crevasses,  and,  moreover,  seasoned  to  rough 
treatment  by  the  hunters  and  guides  of  the 
hills  and  the  salt-workers  in  the  town,  he  would 
have  been  made  ill  and  sick  by  the  bruising 
and  shaking  and  many  changes  of  position  to 
which  he  had  been  subjected. 

The  way  the  men  took  was  a  mile  and  a 
half  in  length,  but  the  road  was  heavy  with 
snow,  and  the  burden  they  bore  was  heavier 
still.  The  dealers  cheered  them  on,  swore  at 
them  and  praised  them  in  one  breath ;  besought 
them  and  reiterated  their  splendid  promises,  for 
a  clock  was  striking  eleven,  and  they  had  been 
ordered  to  reach  their  destination  at  that  hour, 
and,  though  the  air  was  so  cold,  the  heat-drops 
rolled  off  their  foreheads  as  they  walked,  they 
were  so  frightened  at  being  late.  But  the  por- 
ters would  not  budge  a  foot  quicker  than  they 
chose,  and  as  they  were  not  poor  four-footed 
carriers,    their    employers    dared   not    thrash 


THE    NURNBERG    STOVE  79 

them,  though  most  willingly  would  they  have 
done  so. 

The  road  seemed  terribly  long  to  the  anx- 
ious tradesmen,  to  the  plodding  porters,  to  the 
poor  little  man  inside  the  stove,  as  he  kept 
sinking  and  rising,  sinking  and  rising,  with 
each  of  their  steps. 

Where  they  were  going  he  had  no  idea,  only 
after  a  very  long  time  he  lost  the  sense  of  the 
fresh  icy  wind  blowing  on  his  face  through  the 
brass-work  above,  and  felt  by  their  movements 
beneath  him  that  they  were  mounting  steps  or 
stairs.  Then  he  heard  a  great  many  different 
voices,  but  he  could  not  understand  what  was 
being  said.  He  felt  that  his  bearers  paused 
some  time,  then  moved  on  and  on  again.  Their 
feet  went  so  softly  he  thought  they  must  be 
moving  on  carpet,  and  as  he  felt  a  warm  air 
come  to  him  he  concluded  that  he  was  in  some 
heated  chambers,  for  he  was  a  clever  little  fel- 
low, and  could  put  two  and  two  together, 
though  he  was  so  hungry  and  so  thirsty  and  his 
empty  stomach  felt  so  strangely.  They  must 
have  gone,  he  thought,  through  some  very 
great  number  of  rooms,  for  they  walked  so 
long  on  and  on,  on  and  on.  At  last  the  stove 
was  set  down  again,  and,  happily  for  him,  set 
so  that  his  feet  were  downward. 

What  he  fancied  was  that  he  was  in  some 


8o  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

museum,  like  that  which  he  had  seen  in  the 
city  of  Innspruck. 

The  voices  he  heard  were  very  hushed,  and 
the  steps  seemed  to  go  away,  far  away,  leav- 
ing him  alone  with  Hirschvogel.  He  dared  not 
look  out,  but  he  peeped  through  the  brass-work, 
and  all  he  could  see  was  a  big  carved  lion's 
head  in  ivory,  with  a  gold  crown  atop.  It  be- 
longed to  a  velvet  fauteuil,  but  he  could  not 
see  the  chair,  only  the  ivory  lion. 

There  was  a  delicious  fragrance  in  the  air, — 
a  fragrance  as  of  flowers.  "  Only  how  can  it 
be  flowers?  "  thought  August.  "  It  is  Decem- 
ber!" 

From  afar  off,  as  it  seemed,  there  came  a 
dreamy,  exquisite  music,  as  sweet  as  the  spin- 
net's  had  been,  but  so  much  fuller,  so  much 
richer,  seeming  as  though  a  chorus  of  angels 
were  singing  all  together. 

August  ceased  to  think  of  the  museum :  he 
thought  of  heaven.  "  Are  we  gone  to  the  Mas- 
ter?" he  thought,  remembering  the  words  of 
Hirschvogel. 

All  was  so  still  around  him ;  there  was  no 
sound  anywhere  except  the  sound  of  the  far- 
off  choral  music. 

He  did  not  know  it,  but  he  was  in  the  royal 
castle  of  Berg,  and  the  music  he  heard  was 
the  music  of  Wagner,  who  was  playing  in  a 


THE   NURNBERG    STOVE  8l 

distant  room  some  of  the  motives  of  "  Parsi- 
val." 

Presently  he  heafd  a  fresh  step  near  him, 
and  he  heard  a  low  voice  say,  close  behind  him, 
"  So !  "  An  exclamation  no  doubt,  he  thought, 
of  admiration  and  wonder  at  the  beauty  of 
Hirschvogel. 

Then  the  same  voice  said,  after  a  pause,  dur- 
ing which  no  doubt,  as  August  thought,  this 
newcomer  was  examining  all  the  details  of  the 
wondrous  fire-tower,  "  It  was  well  bought ;  it 
is  exceedingly  beautiful!  It  is  most  undoubt- 
edly the  work  of  Augustin  Hirschvogel." 

Then*  the  hand  of  the  speaker  turned  the 
round  handle  of  the  brass  door,  and  the  faint- 
ing soul  of  the  poor  little  prisoner  within  grew 
sick  with  fear. 

The  handle  turned,  the  door  was  slowly 
drawn  open,  some  one  bent  down  and  looked  in, 
and  the  same  voice  that  he  had  heard  in  praise 
of  its  beauty  called  aloud,  in  surprise,  "  What 
is  this  in  it?    A  live  child!  " 

Then  August,  terrified  beyond  all  self-con- 
trol, and  dominated  by  one  master-passion, 
sprang  out  of  the  body  of  the  stove  and  fell  at 
the  feet  of  the  speaker. 

"  Oh,  let  me  stay !  Pray,  meinherr,  let  me 
stay!  "  he  sobbed.  "  I  have  come  all  the  way 
with  Hirschvogel ! " 


82  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

Some  gentlemen's  hands  seized  him,  not 
gently  by  any  means,  and  their  Hps  angrily 
muttered  in  his  ear,  "  Little  knave,  peace !  be 
quiet !  hold  your  tongue !     It  is  the  king !  " 

They  were  about  to  drag  him  out  of  the 
august  atmosphere  as  if  he  had  been  some  ven- 
omous, dangerous  beast  come  there  to  slay,  but 
the  voice  he  had  heard  speak  of  the  stove  said, 
in  kind  accents,  "  Poor  little  child !  he  is  very 
young.     Let  him  go :  let  him  speak  to  me/' 

The  word  of  a  king  is  law  to  his  courtiers: 
so,  sorely  against  their  wish,  the  angry  and 
astonished  chamberlains  let  August  slide  out 
of  their  grasp,  and  he  stood  there  in  his  little 
rough  sheepskin  coat  and  his  thick,  mud- 
covered  boots,  with  his  curling  hair  all  in  a 
tangle,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  beautiful  cham- 
ber he  had  ever  dreamed  of,  and  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  young  man  with  a  beautiful  dark 
face,  and  eyes  full  of  dreams  and  fire ;  and  the 
young  man  said  to  him : 

"  My  child,  how  came  you  here,  hidden  in 
this  stove?  Be  not  afraid:  tell  me  the  truth. 
I  am  the  king." 

August  in  an  instinct  of  homage  cast  his 
great  battered  black  hat  with  the  tarnished 
gold  tassels  down  on  the  floor  of  the  room,  and 
folded  his  little  brown  hands  in  supplication. 
He  was  too  intensely  in  earnest  to  be  in  any 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  83 

way  abashed;  he  was  too  lifted  out  of  himself 
by  his  love  for  Hirschvogel  to  be  conscious  of 
any  awe  before  any  earthly  majesty.  He  was 
only  so  glad — so  glad  it  was  the  king.  Kings 
were  always  kind;  so  the  Tyrolese  think,  who 
love  their  lords. 

"Oh,  dear  king!"  he  said,  with  trembling 
entreaty  in  his  faint  little  voice,  "  Hirschvogel 
was  ours,  and  we  have  loved  it  all  our  lives; 
and  father  sold  it.  And  when  I  saw  that  it  did 
really  go  from  us,  then  I  said  to  myself  I  would 
go  with  it ;  and  I  have  come  all  the  way  inside 
it.  And  last  night  it  spoke  and  said  beautiful 
things.  And  I  do  pray  you  to  let  me  live  with 
it,  and  I  will  go  out  every  morning  and  cut 
wood  for  it  and  you,  if  only  you  will  let  me 
stay  beside  it.  No  one  ever  has  fed  it  with 
fuel  but  me  since  I  grew  big  enough,  and  it 
loves  me ; — it  does  indeed ;  it  said  so  last  night ; 
and  it  said  that  it  had  been  happier  with  us 
than  if  it  were  in  any  palace " 

And  then  his  breath  failed  him,  and,  as  he 
lifted  his  little,  eager,  pale  face  to  the  young 
king's,  great  tears  were  falling  down  his  cheeks. 

Now,  the  king  likes  all  poetic  and  uncom- 
mon things,  and  there  was  that  in  the  child's 
face  which  pleased  and  touched  him.  He  mo- 
tioned to  his  gentlemen  to  leave  the  little  boy 
alone. 


84  THE   NURNBERG    STOVE 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  he  asked  him. 

"  I  am  August  Strehla.  My  father  is  Hans 
Strehla.  We  Hve  in  Hall,  in  the  Innthal ;  and 
Hirschvogel  has  been  ours  so  long, — so  long !  " 

His  lips  quivered  with  a  broken  sob. 

"And  have  you  truly  travelled  inside  this 
stove  all  the  way  from  Tyrol?" 

"Yes,"  said  August;  "no  one  thought  to 
look  inside  till  you  did." 

The  king  laughed ;  then  another  view  of  the 
matter  occurred  to  him. 

"Who  bought  the  stove  of  your  father?" 
he  inquired. 

"  Traders  of  Munich,"  said  August,  who  did 
not  know  that  he  ought  not  to  have  spoken  to 
the  king  as  to  a  simple  citizen,  and  whose  little 
brain  was  whirling  and  spinning  dizzily  round 
its  one  central  idea. 

"  What  sum  did  they  pay  your  father,  do  you 
know  ?  "  asked  the  sovereign. 

"  Two  hundred  florins,"  said  August,  with  a 
great  sigh  of  shame.  "  It  was  so  much  money, 
and  he  is  so  poor,  and  there  are  so  many  of 


us." 


The  king  turned  to  his  gentlemen-in-waiting. 
*'  Did  these  dealers  of  Munich  come  with  the 
stove?" 

He  was  answered  in  the  affirmative.  He  de- 
sired them  to  be  sought  for  and  brought  before 


THE    NURNBERG    STOVE        85 

him.  As  one  of  his  chamberlains  hastened  on 
the  errand,  the  monarch  looked  at  August  with 
compassion. 

"  You  are  very  pale,  little  fellow :  when  did 
you  eat  last  ?  " 

"  I  had  some  bread  and  sausage  with  me ; 
yesterday  afternoon  I  finished  it." 

"  You  would  like  to  eat  now  ?  " 

"  If  I  might  have  a  little  water  I  would  be 
glad ;  my  throat  is  very  dry." 

The  king  had  water  and  wine  brought  for 
him,  and  cake  also;  but  August,  though  he 
drank  eagerly,  could  not  swallow  anything. 
His  mind  was  in  too  great  a  tumult. 

"  May  I  stay  with  Hirschvogel  ? — may  I 
stay?"  he  said,  with  feverish  agitation. 

"  Wait  a  little,"  said  the  king,  and  asked 
abruptly,  "  What  do  you  wish  to  be  when  you 
are  a  man  ?  " 

"  A  painter.  I  wish  to  be  what  Hirschvogel 
was, — I  mean,  the  master  that  made  my 
Hirschvogel" 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  king. 

Then  the  two  dealers  were  brought  into  their 
sovereign's  presence.  They  were  so  terribly 
alarmed,  not  being  either  so  innocent  or  so  ig- 
norant as  August  was,  that  they  were  trem- 
bling as  though  they  were  being  led  to  the 
slaughter,  and  they  were  so  utterly  astonished, 


86  THE    NURNBERG    STOVE 

too,  at  a  child  having  come  all  the  way  from 
Tyrol  in  the  stove,  as  a  gentleman  of  the  court 
had  just  told  them  this  child  had  done,  that 
they  could  not  tell  what  to  say  or  where  to  look, 
and  presented  a  very  foolish  aspect  indeed. 

"  Did  you  buy  this  Niirnberg  stove  of  this 
little  boy's  father  for  two  hundred  florins  ?  '* 
the  king  asked  them;  and  his  voice  was  no 
longer  soft  and  kind  as  it  had  been  when  ad- 
dressing the  child,  but  very  stern. 

"  Yes,  your  majesty,"  murmured  the  trem- 
bling traders. 

"  And  how  much  did  the  gentleman  who 
purchased  it  for  me  give  to  you?  " 

"  Two  thousand  ducats,  your  majesty,"  mut- 
tered the  dealers,  frightened  out  of  their  wits, 
and  telling  the  truth  in  their  fright. 

The  gentleman  was  not  present:  he  was  a 
trusted  counsellor  in  art  matters  of  the  king's, 
and  often  made  purchases  for  him. 

The  king  smiled  a  little,  and  said  nothing. 
The  gentleman  had  made  out  the  price  to  him 
as  eleven  thousand  ducats. 

"  You  will  give  at  once  to  this  boy's  father 
the  two  thousand  gold  ducats  that  you  received, 
less  the  two  hundred  Austrian  florins  that  you 
paid  him,"  said  the  king  to  his  humiliated  and 
abject  subjects.  "  You  are  great  rogues.  Be 
thankful  you  are  not  more  greatly  punished.  " 


THE    NURNBERG    STOVE  87 

He  dismissed  them  by  a  sign  to  his  courtiers, 
and  to  one  of  these  gave  the  mission  of  making 
the  dealers  of  the  Marienplatz  disgorge  their 
ill-gotten  gains. 

August  heard,  and  felt  dazzled  yet  miserable. 
Two  thousand  gold  Bavarian  ducats  for  his 
father!  Why,  his  father  would  never  need  to 
go  any  more  to  the  salt-baking!  And  yet, 
whether  for  ducats  or  for  florins,  Hirschvogel 
was  sold  just  the  same,  and  would  the  king  let 
him  stay  with  it? — would  he? 

"  Oh,  do !  oh,  please  do !  "  he  murmured, 
joining  his  little  brown  weather-stained  hands, 
and  kneeling  down  before  the  young  monarch, 
who  himself  stood  absorbed  in  painful  thought, 
for  the  deception  so  basely  practised  for  the 
greedy  sake  of  gain  on  him  by  a  trusted  coun- 
sellor was  bitter  to  him. 

He  looked  down  on  the  child,  and  as  he  did 
so  smiled  once  more. 

"  Rise  up,  my  little  man,"  he  said  in  a  kind 
voice ;  "  kneel  only  to  your  God.  Will  I  let  you 
stay  with  your  Hirschvogel  ?  Yes,  I  will ;  you 
shall  stay  at  my  court,  and  you  shall  be  taught 
to  be  a  painter, — in  oils  or  on  porcelain,  as  you 
will, — and  you  must  grow  up  worthily,  and  win 
all  the  laurels  at  our  Schools  of  Art,  and  if 
when  you  are  twenty-one  years  old  you  have 
done  well  and  bravely,  then  I  will  give  you 


88         THE    NURNBERG   STOVE 

your  Nurnberg-  stove,  or,  if  I  am  no  more  liv- 
ing, then  those  who  reign  after  me  shall  do  so. 
And  now  go  away  with  this  gentleman,  and  be 
not  afraid,  and  you  shall  light  a  fire  every 
morning  in  Hirschvogel,  but  you  will  not  need 
to  go  out  and  cut  the  wood." 

Then  he  smiled  and  stretched  out  his  hand; 
the  courtiers  tried  to  make  August  understand 
that  he  ought  to  bow  and  touch  it  with  his 
lips,  but  August  could  not  understand  that  any- 
how ;  he  was  too  happy.  He  threw  his  two 
arms  about  the  king's  knees,  and  kissed  his 
feet  passionately ;  then  he  lost  all  sense  of  where 
he  was,  and  fainted  away  from  hunger,  and 
tire,  and  emotion,  and  wondrous  joy. 

As  the  darkness  of  his  swoon  closed  in  on 
him,  he  heard  in  his  fancy  the  voice  from 
Hirschvogel  saying: 

"  Let  us  be  worthy  of  our  maker !  " 

He  is  only  a  scholar  yet,  but  he  is  a  happy 
scholar,  and  promises  to  be  a  great  man.  Some- 
'•jmes  he  goes  back  for  a  few  days  to  Hall, 
where  the  gold  ducats  have  made  his  father 
prosperous.  In  the  old  house-room  there  is  a 
large  white  porcelain  stove  of  Munich,  the 
king's  gift  to  Dorothea  and  'Gilda. 

And  August  never  goes  home  without  going 
into  the  great  church  and  saying  his  thanks  to 
God,  who  blessed  his  strange  winter's  journey 


THE   NURNBERG   STOVE  89 

in  the  Niirnberg  stove.  As  for  his  dream  in 
the  dealers'  room  that  night,  he  will  never 
admit  that  he  did  dream  it;  he  still  declares 
that  he  saw  it  all,  and  heard  the  voice  of 
Hirschvogel.  And  who  shall  say  that  he  did 
not?  for  what  is  the  gift  of  the  poet  and  the 
artist  except  to  see  the  sights  that  others  can- 
not see  and  to  hear  the  sounds  that  others  can- 
not hear? 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


m 


'^''^  i  6  758/ 


Form  L9-10m-3,'48(A7920)444 


THE  UBRART 
mnVEESlTYOFCAUFORMA 


3  1158  00232  3573      (^ 


1 


REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FAaUTY 


AA    000  369134    2 


